


Breakaway

by Shaylybaby2032



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, British Men of Letters (Supernatural) Being Assholes, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Car Accidents, Demons, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Kidnapping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Torture, Reapers, Smut, Torture, Violence, Witch Curses, Witchcraft, reapers are angels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 75,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaylybaby2032/pseuds/Shaylybaby2032
Summary: *OC inserts into Season 12*Mick Davies has followed the British Men of Letters for the majority of his life, adhering to the code at all costs. However, when his path crosses Emmeline Turner's, things start to change and he finds himself in the battle between right and wrong. Will Mick make the right decision before it's too late? Or will he choose to stay with the British Men of Letters? Is she worth the price switching sides could cost him?
Relationships: Mick Davies/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

"CHOOSE!" Dr. Hess demanded, cocking her gun and pointing the weapon at Mick Davies across the room.

Mick froze, staring down the barrel of the gun. He could still hear gunshots thundering through the British Men of Letters' compound in America that he had helped set up himself. His colleagues were falling swiftly at the hands of the American hunters—the same hunters Dr. Hess had ordered to be exterminated.

He couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. The evil woman never even considered the Americans banding together to fight back, to fight for their right to exist. She wasn't used to being disobeyed, it was something  _ the code _ forbade and there wasn't a member of the British Men of Letters that would dare break that code. Kendricks had drilled obedience into every single one of them, and Mick had spent most of his life never questioning it.

That was until he met a group of American hunters who not only saw the shades of gray that their British counterparts chose to ignore, but embraced them. Somehow, somewhere along the way, one of those hunters had made  _ him _ start to question what had been ingrained into him since he was a child. Her kindness and compassion, as well as her grit and smart mouth, all led him to do what he never thought he would: Breaking the code. For an American hunter no less.

Was it all worth it? Did he regret the choices that led him to this moment, where he was facing his own morality? Was  _ she _ worth it?

"Choose, Mr. Davies," Dr. Hess growled. "The ones you owe your whole life to or these American dogs!"

Mick's grin grew as his soft green eyes locked with Hess'.

He knew his choice.

He had known all along.

  
  


* * *

  
  


_**6 months earlier** _

Recruiting the American hunters simply was not going as well as Mick Davies thought it would. It had been a month since he had taken over operational leadership of the British Men of Letters’ U.S. expansion from Toni Bevel. So far, it was a never-ending loop of hunters who either wouldn't talk to him, didn't show up for scheduled meetings, or found different ways to tell him no—some of which were more creative or life-threatening than others. However, there were a few that were polite enough to listen to what he had to say. Unfortunately, even the friendly ones had told him no.

Still, he wouldn't give up. The elders had foreseen the task being difficult, so he was allowed ample time to complete his mission. Which he would do, he was sure of it. One of these American hunters would see the light, or eventually the British Men of Letters would help the right one and he would be able to get his foot in the door. He was certain of it.

Which is why he sat at his desk in the American compound for the British Men of Letters pouring over the file on his next hopeful recruitment. Her name was Emmeline Turner. She drove a teal 1969 Mustang with two black racing stripes down the center that currently sported recently expired Oregon tags. Raised in the life by her hunter parents Amber and Russel Turner. Began hunting with Raz Bennet when she was sixteen after Amber and Russel were killed by a demon, name of said demon unknown. Her list of kills was quite impressive, although at times reckless. 

The information went on and on, however, there was one fact that had Mick sighing internally and wondering if this meeting was even worth going to. Emmeline Turner was friends with Sam and Dean Winchester, close friends judging from the amount of communication between the three. Which meant she more than likely knew of Toni Bevel's transgressions against the Winchester brothers. He grew more and more angry over his colleague's actions every time he encountered a hunter that knew the Winchesters personally and that horrible first impression was thrown in his face.

Mick sighed in frustration, laying the file on his desk and rubbing his temples with his fingers. Maybe she would be one of the polite ones. Hey, he could hope.

"The Winchesters are completely daft and incapable of completing a task!" Ketch groused, walking into Mick's office and sitting in the chair across from him. "I had to finish the Magda Peterson girl off. They let her go free! Can you believe that?! Let her walk after what she did!"

Mick's eyes had gone to the other man as soon as he had entered, but now he found himself focusing on the file in front of him again. Ketch's complaining was getting old quite fast.

"Did you submit your report?" Mick asked.

"Of course I did!" Ketch replied sharply. " _ I  _ finish my tasks!"

Mick simply nodded and stood from his seat, suddenly glad he had somewhere to be. "Well I'm off," he said, straightening his tie and adjusting his dark blue blazer. "I have a meeting to get to."

"Another American waste?" Ketch asked.

"Another American  _ hunter _ ," Mick corrected, returning the paperwork and pictures on Emmeline back into the file on his desk and pointedly not looking at Ketch. "Emmeline Turner."

"At least this one is nice to look at," Ketch grumbled, catching a glimpse of Emmeline's picture before Mick closed the folder and picked it up.

"That is entirely inappropriate, Mr. Ketch!" Mick snapped.

Ketch rolled his eyes. "It was simply an observation. It isn't like I am in any way interested in any of these American wankers in that way."

Mick chose to ignore Ketch. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him he needed to leave. He didn't have time to get into a debate with his colleague.

"Have a good afternoon, Mr. Ketch," Mick said and proceeded to leave the room. He had places to be. Thankfully.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The flight had been pleasurable, but chartered private jets often are. Mick had landed in the tiny town in Missouri a little after three in the afternoon and drove straight to the mom and pop diner where Emmeline was supposed to meet him. It most definitely had not been his first choice. The place was cramped with barely enough room for ten tables and a row of counter seats. From what he could see from the corner booth he had chosen, the kitchen only had room for a cook and one waitress. Even still, he noticed them nearly performing acrobatics to move around one another.

Why did every American hunter seem drawn to these hole in the wall places? Most of them made him seriously wonder how they stayed open.

Mick's eyes floated around the establishment as he patiently waited. There was only one other couple tucked away in another corner table on the opposite side of the room lost in their own conversation. The waitress was pouring his coffee he had ordered when he first sat down and the cook was focused on the sizzling grill in front of him. Idly he wondered if Emmeline would even show. It wouldn't be the first time an American hunter stood him up. 

"Black coffee," the waitress with a head full of curly gray hair and friendly brown eyes said. "Can I get anything else for you, honey?"

"Not at the moment," Mick replied with a smile. "I'm waiting on someone."

"Alright then. I'll check on ya in a few."

Mick watched the waitress walk away to go check on the other couple in the diner. He sipped his coffee, his gaze drifting to the window beside him in time to see the teal 1969 Mustang with two black racing stripes pull into the parking lot and park next to his car. She was early, that was rare. 

He watched Emmeline exit her car, pulling her long, golden blonde locks into a tight ponytail while her vivid cerulean blue eyes examined his vehicle. Mick tried to ignore that the soft features of her face, the ample swell of her breasts in the tight black tank top she wore, and the tantalizing curve of her hips in her skinny jeans had his eyes glued to her for more than just professional reasons.

He chastised himself as he tore his gaze from her, straightening his tie and clearing his throat. It didn't matter that she was beautiful—he was here on business and that was it.

Lost in his own thoughts, he almost didn't see her walk into the diner. When his gaze shifted to her, she turned and their eyes locked. He ignored the flip of his stomach and stood as she walked over to him.

"Emmeline Turner!" Mick greeted enthusiastically, sticking out his hand. "I'm Mick Davies. Pleasure to meet you."

A forced smile crossed her lips as she reached out to shake his offered hand. "It's just Emmy," she said. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"Please," Mick said, pulling his hand away and motioning towards the booth. "Have a seat. Are you hungry? Thirsty? On me, of course."

"Just a coffee is fine," Emmy said, sliding into her seat.

Mick had waited for Emmy to order her coffee and be served, filling the time with polite small talk before he moved into the reason they were both there.

"So, shall we get down to business?" Mick asked, watching Emmy pour an exuberant amount of sugar and cream into her coffee.

"Sure," Emmy replied, stirring her drink with a metal spoon. "Gimme your best shot."

"Let me paint you a picture, Ms. Turner," Mick began. He had recited this speech so many times by now he didn’t even need to think for the words to spill from his lips. "Of a world without monsters, or demons, or any of those other buggers that go bump in the night. A world where no one has to die from the supernatural. A new world. A better world. If you choose to work with us, you'll have support in every sense of the word."

Emmy just sipped her coffee waiting for him to continue.

"You need lore?" he went on, unphased by her silence. "Our libraries are the biggest and the best in the world! You want money? We have money! You need weapons? We have gear you can't even imagine!"

He paused to take a sip of his coffee, noting the suspicion in her eyes. "What I'm saying, Ms. Turner, is that you need people like us and we need hunters like you. All we ask in return is that when we call, you go where you're told and you do what you're told. For the greater good."

"Have you ever hunted anything,  _ Mr. Davies _ ?" Emmy asked, setting her ceramic coffee mug on the table in front of her.

"I'm more tactical," Mick replied with a sly smirk. "Long term strategy."

"I see," Emmy replied. "So, exactly what was the  _ long term strategy _ your organization foresaw when your attack dog tortured Sam Winchester?"

Mick sighed in annoyance, hanging his head for the briefest of moments before he looked back up at her. "Lady Bevel disobeyed orders when she did what she did. Her job was to come and make  _ peaceful _ contact. That's why I was sent to clean up her mess."

"Or it was a twisted version of good cop, bad cop?" Emmy shot back.

"It wasn't." Mick made sure to keep his voice level.

"Tell me,  _ Mr. Davies _ ," Emmy started, her tone calm but laced with venom. "What happens when you finally realize none of us want  _ your kind _ of help?"

Mick was stumped for a second. No hunter had yet to ask that question. He knew the answer of course. He had been around long enough to see with his own eyes what happened to those that didn't comply. It wasn't an answer that would go over well. 

He composed himself quickly and lied. "Then we go our separate ways. No harm, no foul."

Mick was surprised when the young woman laughed. "You expect me to believe that? You've already hurt one of our own and we don't take kindly to that."

Before Mick could respond, Emmy stood and pulled a twenty dollar bill from her pocket. "For the coffee and tip," she said, placing the money on the table. "All offense intended, Raz and I have been on our own since I was sixteen and we've done just fine. You can take your offer and shove it up your pampered ass."

Mick grumbled under his breath as she started to walk away. He quickly got to his feet, pulling out his wallet and throwing some money on the table before he hurriedly followed her out the door. He caught up to her just as she opened her car door.

"Ms. Turner!" he called. "Please, just hear me out!"

Emmy turned to him with anger in her eyes. "Hunting isn't just killing monsters! It's about helping those that need it and doing the right thing!"

"All we want to do is help you do that!"

"Then prove it," Emmy challenged and got in her car, slamming the door.

Mick watched, fuming with agitation as she drove away. After a beat, a smile graced his lips. If she wanted proof, then proof is what she'd get.

He took his cell phone from his pocket, dialing a number before he held the device to his ear while it rang. He waited patiently until someone picked up on the other end.

"I need a trace on Emmeline Turner's vehicle."

  
  


* * *

  
  


The drive to California had been long and exhausting. All Emmy wanted to do was fall into the lumpy bed inside the sketchy motel, complete with mystery stains on the carpet and the suspicious ones on the ceiling. And she did just that upon entering her room after throwing her dark green duffle bag onto the opposite bed and sending a quick text to her friend, Raz.

Unfortunately, sleep was going to have to wait. Her phone ringing shrilly in her back pocket had her growling while she grabbed the device, accepting the call and putting the phone to her ear without checking the caller I.D.

"Hello?" Emmy said, trying not to sound cross.

"Hey there, kiddo!" Dean Winchester greeted from the other end of the line. "You make it to California?"

Emmy smiled at the sound of her friend's voice. "Just got into my room."

"How did it go with  _ Mick _ ?"

"Quickly," Emmy replied. "He spouted his bullshit, I told him to shove it, and then I left."

She heard Dean chuckle on the other end of the line and it made her grin widen. She really needed to get to Kansas to see Sam and Dean soon. "He was kinda cute, though. Had really pretty eyes."

"What?!" Dean choked.

"How are things with your mom? Have you heard from her?" Emmy asked quickly, hoping he would let it go.

"Yeah," Dean replied, a slight hint of uncomfortableness in his tone. "We text back and forth. A phone call here and there."

"Just give her time, Dean. She'll come around. She just needs to get her bearings back."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said with a sigh. "So what do you have planned for tonight? Jumping right into the case?"

"I was going to try and sleep until I can break into the morgue tonight," Emmy said. "Tried getting in to see the bodies when I first got to town but they want forms filled out with signatures I can't get."

"Do you need some help? I know Raz is still in Texas." Dean offered. "Sam and I could head out there."

"No, I'm fine," Emmy promised. "If I need you, I'll call."

"Alright, call me when you're in for the night," Dean said.

"Will do. Bye, Dean."

Emmy disconnected the call and turned over on her side, placing her phone on the nightstand. Her eyes were just about to flutter closed when her stomach growled loudly.

Oh, yeah...she hadn't eaten since that morning.

Emmy reluctantly pushed herself up from the bed, remembering the sports bar she had seen down the street from her motel.

"Guess I gotta eat," she grumbled and grabbed her phone once again.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The sports bar was absolutely packed. Of course, Emmy didn't expect much less from a California city on a Saturday night. Loud music pumped through the speakers on one side of the room while the other was filled with the sounds of some televised sports game. Patrons gathered around the tables, eating and drinking while a few played games of pool in the back corner. The counter of the bar was crowded with a line at least twenty people deep that two bartenders were working their way through just as fast as they could.

Emmy sighed heavily; maybe this wasn't her best idea. However, she really didn't want to have to go somewhere else. She made her way to the bar, looking at the limited menu of food the place offered.

An arm slinking around her waist and pulling her into a big and burly body broke her concentration and she instinctively tried to push away. The arm only tightened and she looked up to see a rather large bald man with beady eyes and a cheap faux leather jacket.

"Hey there, sexy," he attempted to croon, the liquor on his breath strong enough to almost give Emmy a contact buzz. "I'm gonna make your night and buy you a drink."

Emmy's face twisted in disgust, trying to push away from him again. "Yeah, I'm not interested, Romeo. Now let me go before I hurt you."

"Come on, baby," the man continued, leaning down close to her face. "I know you want it. I can tell it's been a while for you."

"I believe the lady told you no, mate," a British accented voice said from behind them.

The man jerked away from Emmy, almost pushing her to the ground as he whirled around. She angrily regained her footing and turned to see Mick standing behind them. He was wearing a suit once again, however, this time he appeared to be more relaxed. The tie was gone and the first button of his dress shirt was undone. Emmy was momentarily struck by the sight of him. OK...he was definitely more than  _ kinda _ cute.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?!" the drunk man demanded. "This has nothing to do with you!"

"Ah, that is where you would be wrong," Mick said calmly, walking up to the man and placing a hand on his shoulder. Mick smiled as he squeezed on a pressure point and the drunk instantly went to his knees with a yelp of pain. "You see, I believe you need a lesson in proper etiquette. When a lady tells you no, it means she doesn't want to entertain your advances and you should move on."

Emmy watched with wide eyes as the five foot ten, British man in an expensive suit literally brought down a man easily larger than Sam in height and stature. Shocked didn't even begin to cover it.

"Alright!" the man shouted. "OK! I'm sorry! I'll back off!"

"Good!" Mick enthused, patting the drunk on the chest and releasing his shoulder. "I had a feeling you would be a quick study." 

Mick walked past the man, a friendly smile on his face as he held out his arm to Emmy. "Ms. Turner, may I have a word with you outside?"

The neurons in Emmy's brain suddenly started firing again and a look of annoyance crossed her features. "What are you doing here?"

"We can talk about that outside," Mick gently insisted, his eyes flicking to the right.

Emmy followed his gaze and saw a bouncer headed their way. She sighed with disdain and walked past Mick, ignoring his offered arm. She didn't see him chuckle lightly as he followed her out to her car.

The same silver, luxury sedan she had seen at the diner in Missouri parked next to her Mustang instantly caught her eye and her annoyance turned to anger.

"Are you stalking me now?" she growled, rounding on Mick. 

"Of course not," he assured, holding his hands up to indicate he meant no harm. "I was simply in town checking out a possible supernatural attack and saw your car in the parking lot. Thought I'd come say hello. Good thing I did."

"OK, first of all," Emmy started, stepping closer to him and leveling a finger at him. "I could have taken care of that guy by myself. I didn't need to be rescued."

"I didn't say you did," Mick said, his professionalism slipping just a little. "But I wasn't about to stand back and let that wanker treat you like that! Please, forgive me for putting him in his place in a manner that didn't get the police called."

Emmy huffed, moving to sit on the hood of her car with her arms folded over her chest. "Thank you," she grumbled.

"You're welcome."

"Are you going to tell me why you're here now?" Emmy asked, letting her gaze fall on him.

"I did."

"I meant the  _ real _ reason because it kinda feels like you’re stalking me and need a lesson in proper etiquette yourself."

"I'm not stalking you!" Mick implored, agitation started to crease his brow. He sighed when she silently just stared at him. "Fine! I had you tracked. You asked me to prove that we are here to help. So, that's what we are here to do."

"I don't need your help."

"Really?" Mick asked. "Tell me, Ms. Turner, what did you discover from the bodies in the morgue? Oh, wait...you couldn't get in."

"I'll be in before the night's over!"

"Or," Mick started, coming to sit beside her. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket. "We could go in now under legitimate paperwork and do a thorough investigation without the worry of being caught and most likely arrested."

Emmy looked back and forth between Mick and the paper in his hand. There was no way he had the exact forms she was lacking. The grin returned to his face as he offered her what was in his hand. With another huff, she snatched the paper and unfolded it. It was indeed a form straight out of D.C. that gave him exclusive rights to examine the bodies in question and to even perform his own autopsy if he saw fit.

"How?!" Was all she could manage, her eyes roving over the printed words.

"It's some of that support I told you about," he said simply. "The only question is, am I doing this by myself or are you accompanying me?"

Emmy's gaze tore from what was in her hand to the man sitting beside her. Every warning bell in her head said to tell him once again to shove his help up his ass. However, people were dying and she couldn't make a move to stop it without the information she would get from those bodies.

"Emmeline," Mick started and she could detect the slightest bit of defeat in his voice. "Something is killing innocent men in this town. Their insides are being shredded and their reproductive organs ripped out of their bodies. All I want to do is help you figure out what is doing this and stop it."

Emmy took a deep breath, ignoring what the sound of her name rolling off his tongue in that accent did to her. "OK, let's do this."

"Great!" Mick exclaimed, a smile lighting up his face and making his sea green eyes sparkle.

"But let's be clear about two things!" she said. "In no way does this mean I'm joining your little club, and we do this  _ my _ way!"

"Understood," Mick said, standing to walk over to the driver's side of his car. "Go change and I'll pick you up at your motel room in thirty minutes."

"You know where I'm staying, too?!"

Mick simply winked at her before he got into his car and drove away.

Emmy watched until his taillights disappeared down the road. She couldn't help but feel like she had just sold her soul to a completely different kind of demon—one she wasn't sure how to even begin fighting.

  
  


* * *

  
  


"This is a waste of our time!" Ketch complained from the passenger's seat of Mick's car. "We know what is more than likely doing this! Just let me kill it so we can move on!"

Mick bit back the urge to tell his colleague to shut the hell up as he parked the vehicle in front of Emmy's motel room. "We still have to make sure, Ketch," Mick reminded the man to his right. "Until we see that telltale bite, we don't know for sure. Nor do we know where it's hiding."

"All things we could find out easily!" Ketch shot back. "I don't see the point in bringing in the hunter!"

"Because we are trying to prove she can trust us and maybe get her to work with us!" Mick snapped. "Ya know, the reason we are in America in the first place!"

Ketch rolled his eyes as Mick shut off the engine. "And why, pray tell, is this  _ one _ hunter so important for you to convince, Mick?"

"She's friends with the Winchesters!" Mick said, starting to lose his patience with the current conversation. "The old men up top want the brothers. As far as they are concerned where the Winchesters lead, the rest of the American hunters will follow!"

Ketch huffed and wrenched open his door to stand. "Did you at least tell her I was coming? I don't imagine she'll take kindly to me."

"She knows," Mick said opening his door and getting out. "I called her before we left the hotel. She wasn't happy about it, but she's still willing to do this with us."

Both men shut their doors and walked together up to the door. Mick knocked and a few seconds later Emmy opened the door wearing a navy blue pencil skirt with a soft cream blouse and a blazer that matched her skirt. She eyed Ketch suspiciously while standing aside to let two men walk into her room.

Once she shut the door and turned to face them, Ketch was in her space before Mick could even speak.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Emmeline," Ketch said, taking her hand and placing a kiss on it. "I'm Arthur Ketch."

"Right," Emmy said, pulling her hand from Ketch's grasp and moving around him to speak with Mick. "Listen, I've been thinking."

"Oh?" Mick said nervously, internally cursing Ketch.

"Since we are in this together," Emmy started, noting how Mick visibly relaxed. "I should tell you that I have a pretty good idea what we are dealing with here and—"

"And what would that be?" Ketch interrupted, stepping around to stand next to Mick.

Emmy stopped to glare daggers at Ketch and Mick could already see the disdain building between them. He needed to intervene.

"Please, Emmeline," Mick said, stepping between the two. He could practically feel Ketch rolling his eyes behind him. "You were saying?"

Emmy forced her gaze to meet Mick's. "I'm pretty sure it's a Pontianak. They are extremely rare here in the states, they hardly ever leave Indonesia—"

"Yes, yes," Ketch butt in. "We're well aware. We know they lure their victims in with quite a delightful scent that turns putrid right before they tear their victims open—which are usually hard up males—feast on their innards, and rip out their reproductive organs. Can we go and verify it is what it is so I can kill the thing?"

"Ya know, you don't have to be so rude," Emmy snapped. "And who the hell said  _ you  _ were killing the thing! This is  _ my _ hunt!"

"Hate to break it to you, but it's—"

"Ketch!" Mick seethed. "That's enough!"

"We are in this together," Mick continued once he was sure Ketch didn't have a comeback. "Now can we please go and get this done?"

Ketch grumbled, walking past Emmy and mumbling something about waiting in the car for them. When the door had slammed behind him, Emmy rounded on Mick.

"Your partner is a dick!" she snapped. "And what happened to you understanding that we're doing this my way?!"

Mick could feel his anger about to bubble over, fighting the urge to walk outside and punch Ketch across the face. However, when he spoke, his voice was level. "I'm sorry, Ketch can be a bit brash."

"A bit?!"

"OK, a lot," Mick relented. "But it doesn't change anything. We are simply here to aid  _ you _ ."

Emmy sighed and her angry posture relaxed. Mick released a breath he didn't know he was holding. He couldn't help but notice the glow in her cheeks from where her anger had flushed her face. It made his mind wonder what she looked like when flushed from other reasons.

Mick quickly cleared his throat and averted his gaze from Emmy's. Those bright blue eyes made his brain go places it shouldn't. "So, are we still doing this?"

"Yes," Emmy said reluctantly.

"Great!" Mick said, his enthusiasm returning.

"But I'm taking my car. If I have to ride with that douche, I  _ will _ shoot him."

Mick smiled and held up his arm for Emmy to take. "Then I'll ride with you."

Mick could see the smallest of smiles grace Emmy's lips as she turned to head for the door, once again ignoring his offered arm.

"Let's go," she said. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


After a brief argument with Ketch over who would lead the way—a debate Emmy had won—the unlikely trio set off to the morgue. Stopping at a red light, Emmy glanced in her rear-view mirror and swallowed a growl. Ketch was so close to the back bumper of her car he was practically in the back seat.

"If he hits my car, I'm going to kick his ass," Emmy said, pulling her eyes to the road in front of her.

Mick pursed his lips, looking into the passenger side mirror. "If anything happens to your car, I'll have it repaired."

Emmy glanced at him as the light turned green, noting the annoyance in his face that was directed at the car behind them before she turned her attention back to the road. "How did you get  _ him _ as a partner? The two of you don't seem to fit."

"He's not my partner," Mick explained. "I'm technically his superior. It's like I told you though, I'm more tactical. Ketch is...the muscle. It's required for me to bring someone of his skill in a situation like this. If you were working with us, he wouldn't have to be here."

"So, he's the exterminator," Emmy said, ignoring the lame recruitment attempt.

Mick nodded. "If you want to put it that way."

"You've never really hunted, then," Emmy inquired. "Have you ever killed anything?"

He schooled his expression quickly, but Emmy caught the pain that crossed through his eyes before he spoke. "I received training and did extensive research on all things supernatural at Kendricks."

"Kendricks?"

"Yes," Mick said, resting his arm on the door and letting his hand hang slightly out the open window. "Kendricks Academy is where the British Men of Letters sends all of their operatives to receive their training."

Emmy had to bite her lip to keep from laughing—what he had just described sounded a lot like a certain fictional school of witchcraft and wizardry. 

Another red light had Emmy stopping the vehicle again, her eyes watching Ketch get too close to her car once more. She pulled her eyes away from the rearview mirror, choosing instead to steal a glance at Mick. Why did he have to be so attractive, and even worse, why did he have to seem to be a nice guy? He worked for the people who hurt Sam and Dean! It had to be an act.

Emmy let her eyes move around the interior of her car, idly wondering why the light was taking so long to change. Something glinting off the street light caught her attention and she followed it to a silver ring set with a blue stone on Mick's left pinky. A laugh bubbled from her lips before she could stop it and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand when he turned to her with confusion in his features.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"You wear a pinky ring?"

His perplexity intensified. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing!" she said, realizing the light was finally green. "You just don't seem like the type for a pinky ring. I mean, I know I don't know you all that well, but in my experience only stuck up rich dudes with more money than sense and a serious lack of morality wear them."

Emmy saw him grin out of her peripheral vision.

"I'm going to take the compliment about you thinking I have admirable morals," he said, causing her to smile as well. "And it's a class ring from Kendricks, but it's also a reminder of where I came from."

"Ah," Emmy said. "Are you sentimental, Mr. Davies?"

"With certain things."

"I get it," Emmy said after a few moments, reaching up to touch a thin silver chain that was hanging from her rearview mirror. "My parents gave me this for my sixteenth birthday. It was the last birthday gift I ever got from them. It used to have a pendant on it. We were in Tanzania for a little while helping a friend of my mom's out with a changling issue. One of the kids belonged to a guy that worked in the tanzanite mines. He gave my dad a piece of one of the jewels and he had it cut, polished, and set in a heart-shaped pendant. It had a little message inscribed on the back and everything."

"Where's the pendant?" Mick asked hesitantly.

"It was stolen about four years ago by a poor excuse for a hunter named Louis West."

"What a bastard!" Mick groused.

Emmy shrugged. "You get used to losing things in this line of work."

"I'm sorry."

She glanced at Mick in surprise; she had half expected him to try to weasel in another recruitment attempt. A silence settled over the two for the rest of the drive, one that Emmy was surprised to admit wasn't uncomfortable.

  
  


* * *

Mick tried to keep his focus on the four coroner's reports in front of him on the metal desk he was sitting at. There was information in those papers that was pertinent to what they were doing. However, he couldn't seem to keep his eyes where they were supposed to be. Instead, he was stealing glances at Emmy from where she stood at a metal table with a deceased male body in front of her.

The four men who had been the victims that were now laid out lifeless on morgue tables weren't pretty. Their torsos had been ripped open down to their groins, their insides looked like they had been put into a blender, and all four were missing their reproductive organs. 

Emmy hadn't batted an eye, just simply put on the green scrub smock, dawned a pair of latex gloves and went to work. Mick knew the man would never admit it, but even Ketch had regarded the hunter approvingly when she wasn't looking. Emmy was focused and calculated. Working her way around every inch of the corpse with such methodical precision that Mick wondered if they had somehow missed formal training she may have received. 

"I think I have something," Emmy said, looking closely at her subject's hip.

Mick took a split second to push down the laugh at the disgruntled look Ketch shot Emmy before he stood to walk over to her. Ketch was close behind him, both men standing on either side of her.

"Right here," she said, pointing to a circular pattern of what appeared to be pinpricks with a slightly larger point in the middle. "I've only ever seen it once before, but that's a Pontianak bite. From the looks of it, this thing is getting extremely close to the victims before it attacks."

"Yes," Ketch said, clearly not wanting to admit Emmy was right. "It appears close enough to get their clothes off."

"All of the men were found in an alley with their clothes  _ mostly _ intact," Emmy said. "So it's seducing them and then moving then somewhere else to feed?"

"Looks that way," Mick confirmed. "I saw the police reports on our way to California, and reading the reports from the coroner, it looks like all four men have two things in common. They frequented the sports bar you were at earlier and they all lived in the same apartment building."

"Well then it looks like we are splitting up to catch a glimpse of this thing," Ketch said, pulling off his gloves and scrub smock, walking to the exit. "You two take the bar and I'll go to the apartment building."

Ketch turned, tossing his scrubs and gloves in a bio-hazard container. "You two don't mind cleaning this up, do you? I'll make sure to leave a fun new toy in Emmeline's trunk."

He didn't wait for a response from Mick or Emmy before he left the two of them standing there.

"I don't like him," Emmy said, starting to clean up her area and covering the body.

Mick could see her fuming over his colleague's actions, and he found himself once again cursing Ketch in his mind. They had a job to do and every time Mick seemed to be making progress, Ketch would do something that set him right back to square one with Emmy.

Mick sighed heavily, moving to where Ketch had been working and beginning to clean up his mess. "We aren't all like that," he told her.

"Well that's obvious," she said, disposing of the tossable utensils she had used. 

Mick paused his actions, looking up at her with curiosity. That was the second time that night she had inferred she didn't think  _ he _ was a bad guy. Was she actually starting to see that he just wanted to help her and the rest of the American hunters make their home a better place? He could begin to see a glimmer of hope, but kept it locked down in its place. There was still the matter of her connection with the Winchesters. Mick had a feeling that if they weren't on board, Emmy wouldn't be either.

"So when was the last time you got laid?" Emmy asked, completely and utterly destroying Mick's train of thought. 

"Wh-what?!" Mick said, choking on his words as she finally looked up at him.

The look on his face must have told just how far she had thrown him off his game because the laughter bubbling up from her chest had her gripping on to a table for support.

"Because the Pontianak's victims of choice are males who are lacking in that department. Just want to know if I need to watch you or not," she explained herself once she had stopped her laughter.

"Oh!" Mick exclaimed, feeling his face get hot from the blush he knew was covering his face. "I...uh...I'm good."

Emmy bit her lip to keep from smiling while she nodded at him and it was abundantly clear to Mick that she knew exactly what she had done to him just then. 

"Good to know," she said and continued to clean up. "What was Ketch talking about when he said he was leaving something in my trunk?"

Mick was so grateful for the topic change he could have kissed her right then and there. Instead, he refocused on cleaning up Ketch's mess and started talking. "Oh! Well, the Pontianak has to be burned to kill it. So, we are giving you an XL 18 flamethrower with an ultra-high heat intensity and an option to launch a projectile."

Mick heard metal hit metal and looked up to see that Emmy had dropped a metal pan onto one of the tables. She was looking at him with wide eyes and her mouth slightly agape.

"I told you we had gear you couldn't imagine," Mick said with a smirk. "And that's not even the tip of the iceberg. I could show you more if you'd like after we're done with this whole thing."

Emmy pursed her lips and Mick could almost hear the debate going on inside her head.

"We'll see," she said and went back to what she was doing.

Mick smiled. Maybe he was making more progress than he thought.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Emmy shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat of her Mustang. She and Mick had been going back and forth between inside the bar he had found her at earlier and her car parked across the street for four hours now. So far, nothing had appeared out of the ordinary and a phone call from Ketch ten minutes prior had informed them he was having as much luck as they were. It was now close to two in the morning; last call would be soon.

"I think it's safe to say we may have missed something," Emmy grumbled, pulling the hair tie out of her hair. She completely missed the way Mick's eyes lingered on her as she shook out her golden tresses. "Maybe they had something else in common that we didn't see."

"I read the police reports intensively," Mick said. "I can almost recite them."

Emmy sighed, resting her arms over her steering wheel. "I'm pretty sure I've questioned everyone inside, too."

"As have I."

Emmy sighed heavily, slumping back into her seat. "Should we go back in and talk to more people? Maybe lean on them a little harder."

"We haven't seen anyone new walk in in two hours," Mick said. "You may be pretty enough to get someone to talk to you again, but I'm pretty sure they are all suspicious of the Brit in the suit."

The sudden compliment had Emmy snapping her head in his direction. However, she chose to deflect it with a small chuckle. "Yeah, you really should have dressed down a little. As good as that suit look on you, this isn't exactly the thousand-dollar outfit type of place."

Mick grinned and shot her a playful sideways glare. "I'll remember that next time."

The next hour was filled with small talk mixed with tiny hints of flirting while the two continued to watch the bar. However, when the employees were getting into their cars and leaving, they decided to pack it in. Mick called Ketch and they all agreed to meet back at Emmy's motel room.

"I really wish you would let me get you better accommodations," Mick said, getting out of Emmy's car at the motel and looking around at the rundown, no star building with disdain. "I'm half afraid you're going to get carted off by a creepy-crawly roommate you don't know you have, and I don't mean the supernatural kind."

"Awe! Are you worried about me, Mr. Davies?" Emmy asked playfully, shutting her car door and coming around to stand beside him.

"You know," Mick started, cutting his eyes to her. "You can call me Mick."

"Good luck with that," Emmy replied with a grin and a wink. "Come on, let's go inside and wait for King Douche Canoe."

Mick chuckled, following her inside and shutting the door behind him. "And yes, I am," he said. "Worried about you I mean. There's a monster running around this town and I saw two drug deals in the parking lot in just the time it took us to walk from your car to the room. It's not a safe environment, and yes I'm aware you can take care of yourself, but I would feel better if you were sleeping somewhere that the door wasn't flimsy enough for a soft breeze to blow through it. Please, let me get you a room where we are staying, no recruitment strings attached."

"I don't need your charity," Emmy snapped.

"Dammit, Emmeline!" Mick replied. "It's not charity! I just want you to be safe!"

"Just drop it!" Emmy demanded, reaching into the back pocket of her jeans and finding it empty. "Dammit! I left my phone in the car and I need to check in with Dean. I told him I'd call when I got in tonight."

Mick sighed in defeat and headed for the door. "I'll get it for you," he said, exiting the room.

Mick grumbled under his breath about Emmy being stubborn and unreasonable as he walked to the Mustang. He pulled the driver's door open, finding Emmy's phone in her seat. Quickly grabbing it, he froze. An intoxicatingly sweet and flowery scent filled his nostrils and every warning bell in his head started blaring.

The British Man of Letters swiftly withdrew himself from the vehicle and spun around, coming face-to-face with the bald man he had pulled away from Emmy earlier. Only now, the man's eyes glowed a ghastly green, his gaze locked on Mick.

"You!" Mick seethed. "You're the Pontianak?!"

"I am," the Pontianak replied with a sickening grin. "And I caught your scent and the attraction you have to that hunter in there the second you pulled into the parking lot earlier. You want her  _ bad _ dontcha? Don't worry, I'll make her death quick. You on the other hand…"

Before Mick's brain could compute what was happening, a putrid stench filled his senses and the Pontianak had a hold of his suit jacket, throwing him across the parking lot. The creature moved with a speed and agility that Mick could barely register, and suddenly he was flying through the air again, this time landing on the back windshield of a car and shattering it.

"Oh, I am going to  _ enjoy _ ripping you open, you fuckin' British yuppie!" the Pontianak cackled, his fingernails turning into long black claws.

Mick groaned, pulling himself from the windshield and sliding down to stand. He stared down the monster advancing on him and caught sight of something just over the creature's shoulder that had the British man almost laughing.

"You find the fact that you’re about to die funny?" the Pontianak growled.

"No," Mick said, his gaze locking with the monster's again when a metallic click echoed across the parking lot. "She doesn't either."

In the next instant, Mick dove to the side and the Pontianak whirled quickly around, finding Emmy holding the locked and loaded XL 18 flamethrower pointing right at him.

"Bye bye," Emmy said and squeezed the trigger, sending flames shooting forward to devour the creature. In a matter of seconds, all that was left was ash drifting to the pavement like snow. "I think I found a new favorite toy," she said, lowering her weapon.

Mick quickly got back to his feet and headed towards her, surprised when she turned away and started walking back to her car without a word.

"Emmeline—" he started to call, but was abruptly cut off when she rounded on him with ire in her eyes.

"Let's get one thing straight!" she scolded. "If you are going to work with me, don't you dare fucking lie to me when I ask you a direct question! That thing could have killed you!"

"I'm sorry!" Mick said, raising his arms in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't think...I just…" His hands fell to his sides and he sighed heavily. "It won't happen again."

"It better not."

Headlights pulling into the parking lot had the two turning to see Ketch exiting Mick's vehicle and leaning against the opened door. He looked between them for a moment before he spoke.

"What did I miss?"

* * *

The next morning, Mick navigated his car into the motel parking lot Emmy was staying in one last time. He found her closing her trunk and turning just as he parked next to her. When she came around to lean her backside against her driver’s side door, the grin and soft shake of her head caught his eye. He exited his vehicle with a smile and turned to rest his arms across the top of his car, his hands clasped together.

"So, is stalking me going to become a thing, Mr. Davies?" Emmy asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"Not stalking," Mick assured her. "Just wanted to make sure you got along alright this morning."

"How gentlemanly of you," Emmy teased playfully. "And I'll be fine. Caught a line on another case last night before I crashed. Heading that way now."

"Wow, you don't waste any time. Do you need any assistance?"

Emmy laughed, pushing off her car and opening the driver's door. "I'm good. It's just a salt and burn and Raz is meeting me there."

"Well, if you ever do, you know my number. We'll help anyway we can."

"I'll keep that in mind," Emmy said, getting in her car and shutting the door. She reached to put the key in the ignition, turning her head to look at Mick through her open window. "Oh, and Mr. Davies: next time you want to know where I'm at, just call."

Mick's grin widened. "I'll keep that in mind."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF (side of angst)

On an empty stretch of weather-worn road near I-29 in Brookings, South Dakota, Emmy and the Winchester brothers had pulled their vehicles to the shoulder. The trio was perched on the hood of the Impala, Emmy in the middle, each of them sipping on a beer while they watched the sunrise together. None of them said a word about the dirt, grime, and bits of ghoul they were all covered in. They had killed the three monsters that were tormenting the town and that was what mattered.

"I can't believe you killed Hitler," Emmy said, leaning her head to rest it on Dean's shoulder. "That's so freaking cool."

Dean beamed at Emmy's praise, almost preening with pride. "I wish you could have been there, Emmy! You and Raz would have loved to kick some Nazi ass with us!"

Sam chuckled at his brother, looking over at him fondly. "Yeah, he's been hell to live with ever since, too."

Emmy laughed at the glare from the older Winchester, standing from her spot on the hood and turning to face the brothers. "I should get rolling. I've gotta head on up to Fargo and check on Jimmy. Vamp broke his leg last week, so he's holed up for the next few weeks."

"Ugh, that sucks," Dean said. "You want us to come with you?"

"Nah, you guys go see Jody and give her my love. I'm supposed to meet back up with Raz here in a couple days anyway."

"You guys should head to the bunker after you get done with Jimmy," Sam offered. "We'd love to have you both stay with us for a few days."

"Yeah, it's been forever since we've seen each other without something trying to kill us being the reason we're together," Dean added.

"There's always something that wants to kill us or someone we're with," Emmy laughed. "Hell, earlier this month I had to save that Mick guy from a Pontianak."

"You went on a hunt with Mick?" Sam asked, concern coloring his words.

"I thought you told him to shove it up his ass?" Dean added.

"I did!" Emmy said defensively. "But him and another British douche showed up on a hunt I went on after I met Mick in Missouri. They...well, Mick, helped me out and gave me a pretty sweet flamethrower. It doesn't mean I'm signing up to work with them. I'll probably never even see him again."

"Good," Dean said. "We don't trust those bastards."

"I don't either!" Emmy insisted.

"Yeah," Dean said, a teasing air to his tone. "You just think Mick is cute."

"What?!" Sam exclaimed.

"Oh! Shut up, Dean!" Emmy warned, crossing her arms over her chest. "It doesn't mean I'm gonna jump his bones."

"Let's hope not," Dean said, his seriousness returning. "I don't trust any of those ass clowns as far as I can throw them."

"Right," Emmy said, going in to hug Dean. She really didn't think Mick was as bad as the Winchesters thought, but she knew she really didn't want to get into that conversation. "We should all get going."

Dean returned her gesture and a moment later Emmy was hugging Sam and the trio was saying their farewells. They waved out the windows of their cars and sped off in opposite directions.

* * *

Mick blew a puff of air between his lips, shutting off his car's engine and looking up at the front porch he was parked in front of. The quaint little house with white siding and blue shutters was on an expanse of land in Fargo, North Dakota. The owner, James Carter, was an older hunter who was now glaring at Mick from an old patio chair on the porch, his brown eyes filled with annoyance. 

James's right leg may have been in a cast and propped up on what appeared to be a stack of milk crates, but Mick could clearly see the sawed-off shotgun sitting in the chair with the older man. James' salt and pepper hair blew in the breeze when he turned to say something through the open door of his house, quickly narrowing back on Mick when he was done speaking.

"This is going to be fun," Mick said sarcastically under his breath, getting out of his car and painting the perfect bureaucratic smile on his face.

"I don't want whatever it is you're selling," James said, his voice holding an unspoken warning.

That Mick completely ignored.

"Mr. Carter, I'm not here to sell you anything," Mick started, walking up to the porch. "My name is Mick Davies—"

Despite his age and obvious temporary handicap, James moved with a surprising amount of speed when he grabbed his shotgun, pointed it at Mick's feet, and fired.

Mick was barely able to jump out of the way before the shot erupted the ground where he had been standing. He landed hard on his side, feeling a rock slice through his suit and into his flesh above the elbow.

"I know exactly who you are, you British bastard!" James barked, aiming his gun at Mick again. "I don't want nothing to do with your fucking gang of wannabe hunters that keep trying to butt in on my friends' lives! Get the hell off my property before they're looking for your body!"

"JIMMY!" a female voice shrieked from inside the house.

A second later, Mick saw Emmy run out the front door and freeze when her eyes landed on him. Mick had never been so happy to see someone in his life, especially when she ran to James and jerked the shotgun from his grasp.

"Jimmy, what the fuck are you doing?!" she demanded. "You can't kill him!"

"Why the hell not?!" James exclaimed, whipping his body as much as he could in her direction. "He's trespassing on my property and he messed with Sam and Dean!"

" _ He  _ didn't do anything to Sam and Dean!" Emmy shouted. "He stopped it and he’s trying to clean up that bitch's mess!"

"You trust this jerk off?!" James demanded.

"Of course not!" Emmy snapped back. "But I'm not gonna let you kill him either!"

That one stung Mick harder than he was expecting; he had thought Emmy understood his wanting to help by now.

James grumbled a few choice obscenities under his breath while he watched Emmy descend the stairs of his porch and walk over to where a shocked Mick still sat on the ground.

"Here, let me help you up, Mr. Davies," she said, extending her free hand to him.

Mick glanced up to James, who was still glowering at him from his seat, and back to Emmy. He skeptically reached up with his left hand and accepted her offer, making sure to take note of the shotgun still in her hand. She helped him to his feet and without thinking, Mick started to brush himself off. He winced at the pain that shot through his right arm.

"Bloody hell," Mick grumbled, carefully turning his arm to look at the tear in his suit jacket and the blood staining the fabric.

"Oh, that looks bad!" Emmy said, wincing herself. "Come on," she continued, grabbing Mick's left hand and leading him up the stairs. "Let me get you taken care of."

"Are you sure that's such a grand idea?" Mick asked, his eyes never leaving the man that still looked like he wanted to kill him.

"You're fine," Emmy said without hesitation, pulling Mick through the front door and to the kitchen.

She led him to one of the wooden chairs at the rickety table in the middle of the room and motioned for Mick to sit down.

"Off with the Armani, hotshot," Emmy said, heading over to one of the cabinets and pulling out a first aid kit.

Mick watched her closely while he peeled his suit jacket off and carefully rolled up the sleeve of his white button-up past where his wound was.

"What the hell were you thinking anyway?" Emmy asked, pulling out gauze, a washcloth, and antiseptic wash from the kit. "Did you really expect it to go over well when you just showed up at an old hunter's house?"

"I tried to call!" Mick said defensively. "You American hunters are just a different breed, I guess."

"You  _ are _ stubborn aren't you?" Emmy said with a laugh, pouring some of the antiseptic onto the cloth. "Or a dumbass; it's a pretty fine line you're walking."

"I prefer persistent."

Emmy laughed again, coming around behind him to clean the gash on his arm. He grit his teeth against the sting, turning his head to look at her.

"You seem to be warming up to me," Mick said with a grin.

"Not wanting your dumbass to get shot doesn't mean I'm warming up to you,  _ Mr. Davies _ ."

"You also—"

"Neither does saving you from getting your reproductive organs ripped out." 

Emmy's tone had a slight edge to it, but Mick could clearly see the grin that she wasn't trying to hide. However, he stayed silent as she finished cleaning his wound and covered it with gauze.

"There," she said, placing the final piece of medical tape and walking around to pack up the first aid kit. "You're good to go Mr. Davies. Try not to get yourself shot at anymore."

"It's not the first time I've been shot at," Mick said, rolling down his sleeve. "I'm sure it won't be the last, but thank you for cleaning me up."

"You're welcome."

"And for saving me the last time we saw each other as well."

Emmy's gaze flitted up to him as she closed the kit. "Still not joining you guys."

"I thought we went over that I was persistent?"

Emmy laughed, picking up the first aid kit and taking it back to its cabinet. "You said persistent. I said dumbass." She turned, leaning against the counter and folding her arms over her chest. "Seriously though, don't just pop up on a hunter—especially one like Jimmy. They're a bit...excitable. I mean, I'm sure you have files on all of us. It might help to read them."

"Of course we do," Mick confirmed, standing to put his jacket back on. "Part of our job is to gather information, but I have my orders and I have to follow through with them. Which means making contact any way I can."

"Even if it gets you killed?"

"Still standing, aren't I?" Mick relied in rebuttal. "Could say the same for you though. You practically throw yourself at things that want to kill or eat you quite regularly."

"That's different."

"How so?"

"I'm trying to save people."

"Which is exactly what we are trying to do," Mick said earnestly. "We're on the same side, Emmeline. We're just...more organized and have a few more advantages. Advantages that we would like to share."

"I want to believe you," Emmy admitted. "But your first impression was pretty much as bad as it can get, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that if something sounds too good to be true, then it probably is."

"If you'll let me," Mick said, cautiously taking a step forward. "I can show you. Come back to Kansas with me. We've set up a temporary base of operations in Salina. Let me show you what we're doing."

Mick could see the internal battle going on behind Emmy's eyes while she weighed his offer. There was so much more he wanted to say. However, he knew this was a delicate moment and pushing too hard would have her telling him to shove his offer up his ass again, and he didn't want that. What was it about this woman that made him want her on his side even more than Sam and Dean? Those  _ were not _ his orders, but he was supposed to recruit as many hunters as possible as well. So really, he was still following orders. Right?

Emmy sighed, her arms dropping to her sides. "So...do I follow you in your car? It's a bit of a drive to Kansas."

Mick's face lit up with an excited smile. "There are more efficient ways of traveling, Emmeline."

* * *

Emmy was still trying to figure out how Mick talked her into getting on a plane. She was pretty sure it had something to do with him making travel plans faster than anyone she had ever seen in her life. In ten minutes, he had chartered a private jet— _ a freaking private jet _ —to take them to Hastings Municipal Airport in Nebraska. From there they would drive the three hours to the British Men of Letters' temporary base in Kansas. He had also scheduled her car to be delivered  _ by air freight _ to the same location, where he had arranged a car for himself as well. He had even reserved a room for her at a five star hotel near the compound.

Within thirty minutes, she was sitting next to Mick on the private jet in large comfortable chairs, trying to hide how much she was well and truly freaking out. Emmy managed to keep it mostly together until the plane started to lift off the ground. Within seconds, her eyes squeezed shut and she gripped her armrests so tightly her fingers ached, trying not to have an outright panic attack.

The sound of the porthole windows' coverings sliding into place and the click of glass on the table in front of her had Emmy cracking her eyes open; yes, every window in the cabin was indeed covered, and a tall rock glass of scotch was placed before her. Her eyes cut to her left to see a smiling Mick.

"You looked like you needed a drink," he said, a slight hint of concern in his voice.

Emmy barely managed to laugh nervously and take a sip of the Scotch, focusing on the incredibly smooth burn of the alcohol while it slid down her throat.

"Are you alright?" Mick asked.

Emmy managed to nod and take another drink. The alcohol was helping ease her nerves and not being able to see that she was forty thousand feet in the air was even more beneficial.

"You could have told me you didn't like flying," Mick tried again. "I wouldn't have minded the drive."

Emmy was sure he was trying to use talking to him as a means of distracting her and she was grateful for it. 

"You seemed like a man on a mission," she teased, trying to be playful. "I didn't want to interrupt."

He chuckled lightly and sipped from his own glass. "My mistake. I assumed you would be fine with flying because you mentioned being in Tanzania. That's not exactly a short flight."

"I spent the duration of those flights knocked out by a mild sleeping spell."

Mick laughed loudly, leaning back in his chair. "I'm so sorry! If it's any consolation, jets are usually much smoother than a commercial flight."

"I'll be the judge of that," she said with a small grin and lifted her glass slightly. "The scotch helps. Thank you."

"Anything I can do to help."

Emmy took a moment to look around the cabin, noting not only the sleekness and expensive features, but the fact that they seemed to be the only ones on board; the two surly men in black suits she had met before boarding were navigating the vessel inside the blocked off cockpit.

"So, do the British Men of Letters have their own jets?" she asked.

"We do," Mick replied. "However, this isn't one of them. We didn't have any close enough on such short notice, but this company is someone we work with quite regularly. Ours are more technologically advanced. I can run an entire mission from the air if I needed to from one of them."

"That's pretty impressive actually," Emmy admitted. "Too bad it's a never-ending cycle."

"It doesn't have to be."

Emmy cut disbelieving eyes to the man beside her. "Are you telling me you actually believe that 'world without monsters' b.s. you tried to feed me?"

"I do," Mick said confidently. "Because I've seen it. In England, there are no monsters. No demons. Every possible entrance is warded. As soon as something enters, we know it. In twenty minutes they're picked up. In forty, they're dead. That world I told you about is possible if we all work together."

Emmy averted her gaze, hiding behind her glass and sipping the golden liquid inside. She really wanted to believe him, but she had seen too much proof that it would never end. There would always be something wanting to destroy everything it could. However, Mick seemed to believe his words without question. There wasn't any deception in his eyes and he truly came off as just wanting to help.

Sam and Dean didn't trust them, and they had every right not to. After what Toni Bevell did to them and Mary, why would they? Why should she? There was just this quality about Mick that kept drawing her in. Kept making her want to see what the British Men of Letters had to offer and spend more time with the man on her right. Whether she was ready to admit the latter to herself was an entirely different story.

She knew Sam and Dean wouldn't approve of either and could practically see the feelings of betrayal shining in their eyes if they found out. The guilt was starting to gnaw at her now and she downed the rest of the contents of her glass to try and push it down.

* * *

Mick had picked up on how Emmy was feeling by the time they landed in Nebraska. Their conversation had started to become less and less and within the last few minutes of the flight he was sure she was going to bolt the minute she got into her car.

She didn't though. Emmy followed him in her car all the way into Kansas, but just as they passed the mile marker that told him they were ten minutes away from the compound, his phone notified him he had a text message. He saw Emmy pull over to the side of the road as he checked it.

_ I can't do this. I'm sorry. _

Mick wasted no time in performing a U-turn in the middle of the deserted road and driving back to pull his car to the shoulder facing hers. He was thankful that she was sitting on the hood of her car and not making a run for it, but he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that she had changed her mind. He chose not to register that his disappointment ran deeper than just professional.

"What's wrong, Emmeline?" Mick asked gently, exiting his vehicle and walking over to her.

Emmy's arms were crossed tightly over her chest and she refused to look him in the eye. Why did that bother him so much? And why did it feel like a punch to his stomach that he could see unshed tears in her eyes? He wanted to comfort her more than he cared to admit, but all he could do was watch her nervously chew on her bottom lip as she carefully chose her words.

"Sam and Dean are family to me," she started quietly. "You talk a good game and I know you aren't that Toni bitch. Hell, I've actually enjoyed spending time with you. But I can't betray Sam and Dean by working with the people who let that bitch in. I'm sorry I wasted your time."

"You didn't waste my time," Mick assured her. "And I understand. Yes, I want to show you what we can do and that we really just want to help, but there's no pressure. How about we just go and have dinner? My treat."

The last question had surprised even him, so when Emmy's gaze shot to him with a raised brow, he found himself stumbling for a recovery.

"I mean…" he started. "We came all this way and you seem genuinely upset. I just want to make sure you're alright. Just two people having a meal together. No recruitment talk, promise. Maybe I can work on getting you to call me Mick."

A rush of relief shot through him when she smiled and chuckled softly. He wanted to tell himself that forming a connection with Emmeline was strictly professional and that showing her he cared would only help him carry out his orders of making inroads with the American hunters. Unfortunately, it was gnawing at the back of his brain that the way the sight of her smile and the sound of her laugh made him feel was as far from professional as he could get. He really should tell her to nevermind, give her his card again, and leave with the promise that the British Men of Letters would offer any assistance she needed.

"OK," Emmy said. "But I pick the place."

"Wherever you want to go."

So much for what he  _ should _ do.

* * *

The place Emmy had picked was a quaint little Chinese restaurant with exaggerated cultural decorations complete with a large mural of pandas against a backdrop of bamboo. It was dimly lit with hanging lanterns and glass, along with spherical bowls containing floating tealight candles. Emmy and Mick had seated themselves in a corner booth sitting opposite each other, away from the rest of the patrons, giving them the ability to talk mostly uncensored.

Emmy smiled pleasantly at the waiter after he finished taking their food order, aware of Mick's eyes on her. She turned to her dining companion with a smile as the waiter walked away. "What?"

Mick grinned and shook his head, taking a sip of his wine before he spoke. "Nothing. Just admiring the view."

"Well, aren't you a smooth talker, Mr. Davies," Emmy said playfully.

"I do try," Mick replied with a slight tilt of his head, placing his glass back on the table. "So why this place?"

Emmy chuckled softly, a memory flashing through her mind. "When Sam and Dean first moved into the bunker, they invited me to come check it out. Well, I ended up meeting this guy and we went on a date. A very bad date. Long story short, he gets pissed because I wouldn't sleep with him and leaves me on the side of the road. I call Dean, he shows up screaming that he's going to rip the dude's lungs out, and on the way back we see this place. So, we stopped. The food was amazing and it just kinda became our thing to come here whenever I was here. We haven't got to go in a while, though. Life being what it is."

Emmy had noticed Mick's smile widening while she told her story and she wished she could hear exactly what he was thinking.

"You and the Winchesters really are close, aren't you?" he asked.

"We are," Emmy nodded. "Raz and I met them about twelve years ago through a mutual friend that lived in Sioux Falls. The four of us just kinda clicked and we've been friends ever since."

"Why don't you live at the bunker with them?"

"They invited us to," Emmy replied. "We've just never got around to moving in. Enough about me—tell me something about you."

"What do you want to know?"

"Is there a Mrs. Davies that's going to be pissed you're hanging out with me?"

"No," Mick chuckled. "There hasn't been anything remotely close to that in a long time."

"Why not? You're a charming, attractive guy."

Emmy grinned at the shy smile that crossed Mick's lips at her compliment, which he tried to hide by taking a drink of his wine.

"I'm sure you know how it is," Mick said, placing his glass back on the table. "Kinda hard to be with someone when you can't tell them what you do for a living. I don't know many people that would be happy with 'Sorry, luv, I have to be gone for the next few weeks, possibly months, and I can't tell you why.'"

"Yeah, that usually doesn't go over well," Emmy admitted. "What about another member of the Men of Letters? I mean, I'm sure they're not all as psychotic as what's her name."

Mick shrugged, leaning back in his seat and resting his arm on the table. "That's a whole thing in and of itself. Never found anyone worth dealing with it for. The old men can be real sticklers about that sort of thing."

"The old men?"

"The Men of Letters elders," Mick explained. "The ones that have final say on just about everything, reinforce the code, choose who leads where."

"How did you even become a part of this?" Emmy asked, a bit surprised he was being so open with her about everything. She wasn't really sure if it was a good or bad thing, but she found herself wanting to know everything she could about the man across from her. "Are you a legacy?"

"No, I was recruited in a way," Mick admitted, his gaze averting to stare into the table. "My mum and dad died when I was just a boy. I bounced around from foster home to foster home for a while until I ran away. I lived on the streets until the Men of Letters found me."

A painful nostalgia passed through his eyes, eyes that Emmy now realized reminded her of pale green sapphires. Even though he mostly hid it well, seeing that pain clenched at her heart. Before she even realized what she was doing, her hand reached out to cover his. What felt like electricity shot through her when his thumb came up to softly caress against hers and she wondered if he felt it too.

"I ended up picking a member's pocket," Mick continued. "Not on purpose. I was only looking for a couple of quid. Got a cursed coin from ancient Babylon instead. The Men of Letters thought I showed promise. Signed me up. They gave me a home. They gave me a life."

There it was. The reason he believed in the British Men of Letters so much and why he was pushing so hard to recruit the American hunters. The things he must have went through before they found him had Emmy trying to swallow down a lump in her throat. Of course he believed in them, they saved his life.

"Well, now that I've sufficiently brought down the mood," Mick said jokingly, making no move to remove his hand from hers. "What's your favorite color?"

Laughter bubbled passed Emmy's lips at the complete one-eighty turn in topic. "Really? That's what you go to?"

"I didn't say it wasn't lame," Mick replied, joining in her laughter. "I'd like to know either way."

"Green," she said, looking into his eyes. "Yours?"

"Blue," he said, moving his hand to weave their fingers together.

The simple, yet intimate, action of Mick tracing his thumb along the side of Emmy's hand to her palm and back had her breath stilling in her throat. Was there really something starting to bloom between them? She knew this was a bad idea. The people he worked for, the ones he was loyal to, they had hurt Sam and Dean. Almost killed them both. Even hurt Mary. Yet here she was having dinner and flirting with one of their operatives. Given, Mick didn't seem at all like Toni Bevell and Emmy couldn't help but want to believe the things he said about the British Men of Letters. However, he was still one of them and she shouldn't be doing this. Unfortunately, she couldn't seem to take her hand from his or tear her eyes away from him.

The two talked for a while longer, their hands still intertwined. She told him of hunts she and Raz had been on and of times with the Winchesters and Castiel. He spoke of studying at Kendricks Academy, a childhood friend named Timothy, and his intensive study of lycanthropy. Discussions of their favorite foods and music, her favorite flower filled some of their time. Just as she was finishing the story of her dad giving her the Mustang she still drove, the waiter brought their food, forcing them to finally break the connection of their joined hands.

They both thanked their server and as he left, Emmy picked up the package of chopsticks near her silverware. She paused opening them, noticing that Mick had picked up a fork.

"You are  _ not _ about to eat that with a fork!" she exclaimed with a smile.

"I am," he replied with a small chuckle.

"You can't eat Chinese food with a fork! It takes away from the experience!"

"I can, too," he said. "Look." Mick pierced a piece of the Mongolian beef on his plate and popped it in his mouth.

"No, no, no," Emmy said, reaching over to grab the pack of chopsticks by his plate and opening them. She broke apart the wooden utensils and held them out to him. "Try it! Come on!"

He raised a reluctant eyebrow at her. "I've tried before. They don't work for me."

"Oh, I'm sure you're not that bad! Just try!" She gave him her best pouty face, continuing to hold the chopsticks out to him. "For me?"

Mick sighed defeatedly, yet there was still a grin on his face. "Fine."

Emmy's face lit up with a triumphant smile when he took the utensils from her. The placement of his fingers was all wrong, and he struggled to get them in the right position. A fond look crossed her features at the sight of his concentration on the act, but when he picked up a piece of beef and it popped free from the chopsticks’ hold and went flying through the air to plop on the ground next to their table, she burst with laughter.

"I told you!" he insisted, laughing at his own faux pas. 

"Here I'll show you!" Emmy said, getting up from her seat to pick up the food on the floor with a napkin and sit beside him.

She laid the napkin on the side of the table and scooted close to Mick, their thighs barely touching. Emmy had both of her hands on his left hand before he could speak, arranging his fingers on the chopsticks correctly.

"Try that," she said.

When he didn't move, she looked up and her breath stilled when she met his eyes. He had been focused on her, the wooden utensils in his hand momentarily forgotten. Their close proximity finally dawned on her; she could feel the warmth of his body and his pale green sapphire eyes had her mesmerised. 

"How are we doing over here?"

The voice of their suddenly over-attentive waiter had crashed through the moment that was building between them.

"Uh...yeah," Emmy stuttered, tearing her gaze to the young man and scooting away from Mick. "We're good."

The waiter left with a smile and a nod, leaving them alone once more. Emmy had thought things would be awkward between them now, but was pleasantly surprised to find it was the opposite. She finished her lesson in using chopsticks that Mick managed to grasp eventually and moved back to her side of the table. Their easy conversation continued through the meal and at the end, Mick snatched the bill and paid just like he had said he would.

A few minutes later, they were walking back to their cars and talking like old friends. It was hard for Emmy to deny the chemistry between them as they stood on the sidewalk in front of their cars, both of them grasping at one topic to another to keep their time together from ending. They stood together, chatting happily in the cold November air for another thirty minutes before Mick's phone rang.

"What?" he said upon answering the device rather reluctantly after looking at the caller I.D. He paused while the person on the other end spoke, finally sighing. "I'm on my way back then."

He hung up his phone, placing it in his pocket and turning a regretful gaze to Emmy.

"You have to go," she stated, disappointment lacing her words.

"Duty calls," he said. 

"I understand that."

The unspoken words they both clearly wanted to say hung in the air, yet neither dared to speak them. Something had grown between them over the course of the evening. Emmy knew it and she could see the same sentiments reflected back at her in his eyes. However, neither mentioned it as he walked her to the driver's side of her car and opened the door for her.

Going to get in her car, she paused, turning to the man still holding on to her door. "Thanks for dinner, Mick."

Mick's face split into a bright grin that had butterflies exploding in Emmy's stomach.

"You're welcome, Emmy."

* * *

"You're where?!" Emmy exclaimed, looking at Sam and Dean in the Impala through the screen on her laptop on her lap. "And Lucifer is in who?!"

"Los Angeles," Sam said, repeating himself. "And he's in Vince Vincente."

"I wish we would have known you were close to the bunker before we left," Dean interjected, glancing from his seat behind the steering wheel. "We would have taken you with us. We could probably use the backup."

"I have to finish this case," Emmy reminded him. "But as soon as I'm done, I'll head that way. Raz is an hour outside of there though. He went to check in on Sage."

It had been a couple weeks since Emmy's dinner with Mick Davies, and while her time had been filled with hunt after hunt, he had stayed on her mind most of the time. That night still confused her and whenever she spoke with Sam or Dean an immense guilt had her almost sick to her stomach. She wanted to see the British Man of Letters again, but her loyalty to the Winchester brothers had kept her as far away from Kansas as she could and her few text conversations she had with Mick brief. 

However, when she caught wind of what looked like a witch a few towns over from Lebanon, she had to go check it out. Emmy had identified and killed the witch quickly, but despite her being dead the magic on the witch's victims lingered. There were currently thirteen men and women still unconscious in the hospital on life support. Their bodies were shutting down at an alarming rate and the doctors had no inkling as to what was causing it or how to stop it. The medical professionals and the victims' families could do nothing but watch these people die.

Emmy had been quick to locate the correct counter curse to end the magic, but gathering the ingredients was proving difficult due to the amounts she needed. Finally, she had acquired everything on her list except for one thing: dragon scales, and a lot of them. Fifty-two to be exact. Four scales per victim. Which had led her to calling Sam and Dean and nearly every other contact in her phone, including Rowena, who had simply laughed and hung up on her.

"Right," Sam said, shaking his head. "I can't believe we didn't pick up on something that was practically in our backyard."

"Well, you guys have kinda had your hands full with Lucifer," Emmy said. "Pretty sure he takes precedence."

"Not an excuse," Sam grumbled, obviously disappointed in himself. "We do have some scales in the storage room, but I doubt we have that many."

"You're welcome to go look," Dean added. "You still have your key, right?"

"Yeah, I got it," Emmy confirmed.

"Then just go on out and look," Dean said, cutting the wheel into what Emmy assumed was a parking space. "We have to go meet Cas, but you call us if you need anything."

"I will," Emmy promised. "You guys be careful and call me the minute you take care of this, if I'm not there before then."

"You got it," Sam assured her. "You be careful, too."

With that, Emmy ended the video call and powered down her laptop. Her eyes then traveled to the keys sitting on the nightstand beside the bed she was sitting on.

"Looks like I'm going to Lebanon."

* * *

Five.

The Winchesters had  _ five _ dragon scales in their storage room. Nowhere near what she needed and she was running out of time. These people were going to die because she couldn't find enough of  _ one _ ingredient.

Emmy sighed despondently, letting her back slide down the concrete wall of the storage room until she was sitting on the cold cement. Her mind went through every person she knew in her head, trying to come up with someone she hadn't asked. Angry tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. How could she let this happen?

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket and she reached back to pull it out, a text from Mick lighting up her screen as if he somehow knew she needed help.

_ Haven't heard from you in a few days. Just wanted to see how you were doing. _

Her fingers were moving before her mind caught up, typing out a reply.

_ Actually, I could really use your help. _

Emmy's thumb hovered over the send icon, the ramifications of what she was about to do crashing in on her. Was she  _ really _ about to ask the British Men of Letters for help? She could almost hear Dean's ranting, could almost clearly see the disappointment in Sam's face. Could she really do this?

Thirteen people were mere hours away from dying. If the Brits could help, she had no choice. With a deep breath, Emmy pressed the send button and waited for Mick's reply.

Seconds later, her phone was ringing with Mick's name lighting up the screen. Emmy released the breath she didn't realize she had been holding and answered the call, placing the phone to her ear. Before she could even say hello, Mick's urgent voice filled her ear.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"No, Mick, I'm fine."

She heard his sigh of relief before he spoke again. "Then how can we help?"

"I'm working a case," Emmy started to explain, talking quickly. "I ganked the witch, but it didn't break the spell she cast. So, now I have thirteen people in the hospital and their organs are shutting down. I've found the counter curse, but with there being so many victims I need a lot of the ingredients. I've managed to find everything except for one thing."

"What is it?"

"Dragon scales."

"How many do you need."

"Sam and Dean had five at the bunker, so...forty-seven."

"OK," Mick said without missing a beat. "Where are you? I'll bring them to you myself."

"Really?!" Emmy exclaimed, her voice cracking with the tears of relief coming to her eyes. "Oh, Mick! Thank you!"

"I told you, Emmy," he started and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Whatever we can do to help. Gotta tell me where you are though."

"I'm at the bunker right now, but...it would save me a lot of time if you could meet me back at my motel room in Oberlin."

"Text me the address and I'll leave in ten minutes."

* * *

Mick had the dragon scales packed in a small, black metal box and was back at his desk pulling on his coat in less than five minutes. He made one final sweep with his eyes to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything and grabbed the box and his car keys, picking up his phone to text Emmy as he did.

"Going somewhere?" Ketch asked, walking into the office area.

"Yes," Mick answered, turning and walking past the man. "Emmy needs a whole lotta dragon scales for a counter curse. I'm going to meet her in Oberlin."

"Emmy?" Ketch inquired, shifting to follow Mick. "You're on a nickname basis with the Turner girl now?"

Mick simply rolled his eyes, not stopping his stride as he went through the door and into the hallway of the British Men of Letters compound. He held back what he really wanted to say when he realized Ketch intended on following him until he got an answer.

"Yes," Mick finally said. "I came to this country to make friends, remember? Those were my orders and that's exactly what I'm doing."

"Your helping her again?!" Ketch exclaimed. "Are you at least making progress?"

"I believe so." Just not exactly what Ketch was referring to.

"Well, bravo," Ketch replied, a hint of being impressed in his tone. "I was beginning to think you'd never get one of these American hunters to see the light."

Mick fought the urge to roll his eyes as his phone buzzed in his hand, glancing down to find a text from Emmy.

_ Leaving the bunker now. _

"Yes, well, if you'll excuse me," Mick said, pushing the door leading outside at the end of the hallway. "Places to be."

Mick let the door fall closed behind him, leaving Ketch inside. He quickly typed out a reply to Emmy, getting in his car and starting the engine.

_ Leaving, too. See you in a couple hours. _

* * *

Less than two hours later, Mick was pulling his car into a space next to Emmy's Mustang in the parking lot of the Sleepy Time motel. The place was small with just three one story buildings set in a semicircle around the cracked pavement of the parking lot. Each building only had three separate rooms and the fading gray paint was chipped and peeling with a thick layer of dirt and grime.

He was quick to shut off his engine, grabbing the black metal box containing the dragon scales and exiting the vehicle as soon as the key was out of the ignition. Hurrying to Emmy's door, he didn't notice the man in a black hood wearing a pair of sunglasses from the far corner of the middle building watching him. The stranger dipped back behind the structure just as Mick raised his hand to knock.

Before Mick's hand could connect with the worn wood, the door swung open and Emmy rushed forward. She hugged him tightly with her arms wrapped around his midsection. Mick froze for a split second, stunned by the sudden affection, but he managed to kick his brain back into gear enough to wrap his own arms around her. Her body against his sent a shock through his system, stirring things inside of him that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

"Thank God you're here!" she exclaimed. "The wife of one of the victims just called. Her husband has coded three times in the last hour!"

"We're gonna fix it," Mick promised, tentatively bringing his free hand up to caress her hair. "Let's get the countercurse started."

Emmy nodded and pulled away from him to walk back into the room. Mick instantly felt the loss of her like a punch to his stomach, already longing to hold her again. He pushed those feelings down, following her inside and closing the door. His eyes went wide at what he saw.

Old lore and spell books covered both beds, notebooks and scratch paper with notes scrawled over them in Emmy's handwriting intermixed throughout. The trash can was full of paper coffee cups and empty sugar and cream packets, accompanied by small plastic bottles of drinkable energy shots. She had cleared the desk in the far corner of the room to make room for various containers containing the ingredients to the counter-curse that she had already started mixing together in a metal bowl.

Emmy made her way over to the bowl, pulling her hair back into a ponytail as she did. For the first time, Mick saw the dark circles under her eyes and the exhaustion weighing down her frame. It was strikingly clear that she hadn't slept much—if at all—and he was certain that meant she hadn't been eating much either. Every bit of energy she had was being poured into saving these people and it had taken its toll.

He watched her pick up a pestle by the bowl and crush something inside before she turned and crossed over to him.

"Is that the scales?" Emmy asked, indicating the black metal box in his hand.

"Yeah," he said, handing it to her. "Emmy, when was the last time you slept, or ate a real meal for that matter?"

"Seven people have already died because of this fucking witch," she said, taking the box and heading back over to the bowl. "I'll sleep when the other thirteen are safe."

"That didn't answer my question," Mick said, coming up beside her. His eyes flicking down to see the sheet of paper with the complicated counter-curse written on it.

Emmy exhaled sharply, mixing the dragon scales into the dark purple gooey substance in her bowl. "I killed the witch two...and a half days ago. So, three?"

"Emmy!" he exclaimed, his gaze snapping to her.

"I'm not letting these people die, Mick!" she shot back, her eyes not leaving her task.

"I understand that, Luv," he said, the term of endearment slipping past his lips without him realizing it. "But you can't bloody well run yourself into the ground either!"

"I'm fine," she insisted, laying her pestle back onto the surface of the desk and picking up an empty glass jar. "I promise, I'll eat and sleep for a whole day once this is over."

Mick sighed heavily, watching her carefully pour the counter curse into the jar. "I wish you would have called me sooner."

"I do, too."

Mick's eyes widened at her admission; he definitely hadn't been expecting that. Though, he speculated it had something to do with the lack of sleep taking away the censoring on her words.

"We need to get to the hospital," Emmy said, turning on her heel and heading for the door while she pulled her car keys from her pocket.

"Whoa!" Mick exclaimed, striding after her and gently taking her by the arm to stop her. "I'll drive. You really don't need to be behind the wheel right now!"

"I drove here from Lebanon!" she argued.

"And if I would have known you hadn't slept in three days, I wouldn't have let you do that!"

"Fine!" Emmy relented, shoving her keys back in her pocket

Mick smiled, releasing her arm then opening the door for her. "Then let's get going."

* * *

The counter-curse had to be injected into the bloodstream and the exact amount had to go in all at once. Which meant that Mick and Emmy's easiest option was inserting it into the victims' IVs. Emmy had snuck into an on-call room that was empty and snagged a pair of pink scrubs for herself that matched the rest of the nurses on the ICU floor, as well as a white doctor's lab coat for Mick. The duo donned their disguises quickly and set off to each of the victims' rooms.

With Mick's accent, charisma, and knowledge he was able to promptly remove the families from their loved ones’ rooms long enough for Emmy to inject the magic liquid into the victims' still unconscious bodies. They roused before the duo was even out of the room and Mick noticed Emmy's steps getting lighter with every name checked off her list. Seeing the smile return to her beautiful face had made one come to his own.

They got lucky with the last name on Emmy's list: a teenage boy whose mother was currently on the phone with his father at the end of the hallway. Emmy rushed in, darting straight to the boy's IV while Mick stood watch close to the open door.

Emmy pushed the counter curse mixture through the boy's IV and slowly pulled the needle out. Within seconds, the boy's eyes fluttered open and he looked around with confusion.

"You're gonna be OK," Emmy cooed, heading back over to Mick once the boy nodded.

Together, Mick and Emmy dashed back into the same on-call room to ditch their disguises and then hurriedly made their way back to the parking garage where Mick had parked his car.

"I can't believe we pulled that off so easily," Emmy said, walking beside Mick through the rows of vehicles. "Of course, not having Raz with me on this one and having to play every part by myself made things a little harder."

"Backup does come in handy," Mick agreed. "And ya know—"

"If I worked with the British Men of Letters I would always have backup?"

"How'd ya know?" Mick asked with a smirk.

"Lucky guess, and you usually try to slip it in."

"Hey!" Mick said, chuckling softly. "I made it through a whole evening without any recruitment talk with you!"

"You did," Emmy said with a smile. "We should do that again. Dinner, I mean, or something else."

"Yeah?" Mick asked, his eyes cutting to her as he tried to keep down the sudden rush of excitement he felt. She wanted to see him again, on a personal level!

"Yeah," she confirmed.

"I would like that," Mick said. "But you need to sleep first. I'll help you clean up your books and notes in your current room, and then I'm getting you a better one. Please don't argue with me about it."

"I think I can let you win this one time," Emmy said with a laugh.

* * *

It hadn't taken Emmy and Mick long to separate and pack up the books of spells and lore along with her notes that were scattered about her motel room. The Man of Letters then went out to their cars, placing the library and community college books into his vehicle and the books that belonged to her into her Mustang's trunk. He promised that he would return the borrowed books on her behalf; for now, he only wanted her to worry about getting some sleep once they were done.

His concern for her made Emmy smile as she folded the last of her clothes and placed them in her green duffle bag. She could feel herself wanting to be around him more and more each time they were together, yet she couldn't help but feel a stab in her heart when she thought of Sam and Dean. She knew exactly how they would react when they found out, and it wouldn't be good.

Emmy's eyes drifted to her phone on the nightstand beside her. She still needed to call the Winchester brothers to check on them and let them know she would be heading their way the next morning. She really didn't want to make the call around Mick, however. Dean finding out who she had been spending time with and getting help from by hearing him in the background would be even worse. 

"That's all of it," Mick said, coming through the door of the room with a smile on his face, a smile that still caused butterflies to swarm around in her stomach. "Booked us each a room at a hotel about five miles from here. The Cobblestone Inn."

Emmy couldn't stop herself from returning his expression, the flipping of her stomach temporarily pushing the Winchesters from her mind. She could end up falling hard for this man if she let herself.

"Thanks, Mick," she said. "I really do appreciate everything you've done, and I don't just mean today."

"Anything we can do to help," Mick said, making a sweep around the room to make sure they hadn't overlooked anything. "And that's what friends do."

Emmy grinned, zipping her duffel bag. "So we're friends now?" she asked playfully.

"I would hope so," Mick said, coming to stand at the end of the bed with his hands in his pants pockets. "Otherwise taking you out tonight could get a bit awkward."

"Where are we going anyway?" Emmy asked, the smile on her face growing. "There isn't really a whole lot around here."

"It's a surprise. You'll find out after you get some sleep."

"Not fair!" Emmy exclaimed.

Mick winked at her, grabbing the room keys from the surface of the bed in front of her. "I'll go turn these in for you."

"Thanks," Emmy said. "I'm going to give Sam and Dean a call and I'll meet you outside."

Emmy saw the curiosity filter through his eyes and she braced herself for the question she knew was coming.

"Do Sam and Dean know about the Men of Letters helping you, or that you and I have spent time together for that matter?"

She worried at her bottom lip before she spoke, uncertain of how the answer would go over. "They know about the first time we met and you showing up on the Pontianak case...but that's about it. They aren't the British Men of Letters' biggest fans after Bevell almost killed them. I'm going to tell them about today...I just don't know how well it's going to go over."

A small smile passed Mick's lips and Emmy released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

"I had a feeling that would be your answer," Mick told her. "It's alright. You tell them what you feel comfortable with."

"Thanks, Mick," she said.

With one last smile he left the room, leaving Emmy alone and staring at her phone. She sighed heavily as she made her way to the device, picking it up and dialing Dean's number.

"Hey, kiddo!" Dean's voice greeted after only the third ring. "You're on speaker."

"Hey, Emmy," Sam said. "You get everything squared away?"

"Sure did," Emmy told the brothers. "Saved all thirteen."

"Hell yeah!" Dean praised. "So we had enough dragon scales for you?"

"Not exactly," she replied.

"Then how'd you get em?" Dean inquired.

"Um…" It was now or never. "I called Mick and he brought them to me."

There was a silence on the other end of the line that had Emmy's stomach twisting into knots. What was she doing?! Sam and Dean were like family to her, the only family she had left aside from Raz, and here she was hanging out with someone from the organization that had almost killed them.

"Emmy," Sam started slowly. "Do you really think that was such a good idea? Aside from what they did, Mick seems super sketchy."

"No, he's not!" Emmy insisted, defending the man before she could think twice. "Mick's actually a really nice guy!"

"A nice guy?!" Dean said, the disdain in his voice making Emmy recoil. "You've got to be kidding me?! Those British assholes want to come in and start controlling everything, and you're making friends with the guy running the operation?! He's using you, Emmy! Probably to get to us! You're smarter than that! Act like it!"

"Dean!" Sam scolded.

Dean's words had cut Emmy straight down to her core and she could feel the tears starting to prick at the corners of her eyes. It hadn't even crossed her mind that Mick could be using her to get to the Winchesters. Would he really do that to her? Was what she felt growing between them just a lie?

No! It couldn't be! The way he looked at her that night at the restaurant, there wasn't any deception there. Dean had to be wrong! Right?

"Dean, it's not like that—" Emmy tried to defend again.

"Are you working with them?!" Dean demanded, cutting her off.

"No!" Emmy almost shouted. "Listen, I don't want to argue. I haven't slept in almost three days, I don't even remember when I ate last, and all I want to do is get some sleep before I drive to Los Angeles tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," Dean scoffed. "And we're gonna sit down and have a long talk about your taste in men when you get here!"

"Dean!" Sam scolded again. "That's enough!" The younger Winchester's voice was gentler when he spoke again. "Call me when you head out in the morning and be careful."

"Thanks, Sam," Emmy said, grateful Sam had stepped in when he did. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

She didn't give either brother a chance to reply before she ended the call and placed her phone back on the nightstand. Wiping away the tears in her eyes, she turned to go get her duffle when a knock echoed from the door. Her brow furrowed with confusion. Why the hell was Mick knocking? He didn't lock the door when he left.

Without thinking twice, Emmy made her way to the door and swung it open. She froze in place, looking into a pair of fury-filled hazel eyes and a sharp angled face surrounded by the outline of a black hood. Her exhausted and rattled brain simply wasn't moving fast enough and the man in front of her dealt a right hook to her jaw that sent her backwards onto the ground on her side.

"Hunter, bitch!" the man seethed, and jumped on her. 

Emmy fought against him, but he had way more strength than she was expecting. Within seconds, he had her hands behind her back, both of her wrists in one of his massive hands.

"The witch you killed?!" the man spat, pulling a large syringe from the pocket of his hoodie filled with a dark brown substance. "My wife!"

"Get off me you son of a bitch!" Emmy shouted, struggling against the man's hold.

"You see, bitch," the man continued, not fazed by her words. "This little curse that was eating away at those people's insides? It's supposed to be a powder that gets inhaled.  _ BUT! _ I have increased its intensity by ten and turned it into a liquid. Let's see what happens when I inject it into your neck!"

"NOOOO!!" Emmy screamed, bucking wildly to get away.

The man just laughed and plunged the needle into her neck, pushing down on the plunger. He immediately extracted himself, kicking Emmy in the stomach hard enough to send her back a few feet.

"Later, hunter bitch," the man spat and casually strolled out of the room.

Emmy's entire body was on fire, her head pounding like it was being jack-hammered. The room spun and blurred as blasts of white-hot pain sent screams ripping from her lips. Emmy reeled against the pain, forcing her body to flip over and dragging herself across the floor. She had to get to her phone! Had to call for help!

With the last bit of strength she could muster, she pulled herself onto the bed, coughing up clots of her own blood filled with chunks of things she didn't want to analyze. She grabbed her phone, dialing the first number she could think of. However, before they could pick up, darkness closed in over her eyes.

"Emmy?" Mick said, his voice coming from her phone that had dropped to the ground when she fell unconscious. "Emmy? Are you alright? Emmy!" 

  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Mick's blood ran cold when Emmy didn't respond. Something told him that something was terribly wrong, and he turned on his heel to sprint back to her room. His stomach dropped when he found the door wide open, but what he found inside the room almost tore him apart. Emmy was half-lying on the bed unconscious, blood covering her mouth, neck, and chest. The blood was also sprayed in clots and spatters upon the bed.

"Emmy!!" he shouted, running over and placing two fingers to her pulse point. 

He almost cried out with relief when he felt her faint heartbeat. At least it was still there, but what the hell had happened? Did she need a doctor or a spell? Her breathing was barely there and her skin was growing paler by the second despite the fever he could feel steadily rising within her when he touched her. Moving as quickly as he could without jarring her, Mick moved her to lay fully on the bed so he could check her over.

It didn't take him long to notice that her jaw and cheek were swollen with the distinctive shape of a fist strike that was starting to bruise. She'd been attacked, but by who? Carefully, he turned her head and found a puffy, red puncture wound on her neck, which he presumed was from a large, thick needle, possibly a 14-gauge judging from the size of the wound. She'd been injected with something. Taking a closer look, he could just make out light brown wavy lines starting to wind their way from the wound on her neck.

It had to be a spell. Either the witch wasn't dead, or someone was taking some serious revenge. He felt a little more confident in what to do as he hurried over to the other side of the bed and unzipped Emmy's duffel bag. He knew he had seen her put what was left of the counter-curse in there. After some hectic rummaging around, he found the jar along with the capped syringe. Thank God he had grabbed extra for her to go along with the leftover counter-curse.

Swiftly as he could, Mick ripped open the jar, pulled the cap off the needle, and filled the syringe. Mere seconds later, he was at her side again, using his fingers to find a vein in her arm. He found it quickly and stuck the needle in, immediately pushing down on the plunger to send the magic liquid inside of Emmy's bloodstream.

It felt like an eternity to Mick before Emmy took a deep breath, but his reprieve was short-lived. Her eyes didn't open and when he felt her forehead, the touch of her skin nearly burned him.

He was going to need help to save her.

Mick fumbled for his phone, dialing quickly and pressing the device to his ear. He heard two rings before someone picked up and he was speaking before the other person could get a word in.

"Ketch, I need you, Alton, and Serena in Oberlin as fast as you can get here."

* * *

Sam and Dean had saved the crowd that Lucifer planned on killing at his "secret concert" in Los Angeles. However, the archangel had fled the dried husk of Vince Vincente and was once more in the wind. The brothers had left the City of Angels feeling mostly defeated, despite Dean's promise that they would figure it out just like they had everything else in their past.

They had left a few hours prior and Sam had attempted to call Emmy once they were on the interstate, only reaching her voicemail. Five calls and ten text messages later, Sam stared at his phone with a growing pit in his stomach. It wasn't like her to not respond to their communications. Even if there had been a disagreement, it was an unspoken rule between them that they always let each other know they were safe. He sighed internally as he brought her contact up in his phone again and placed another call.

"Voicemail again," Sam mumbled, tossing his cell in the seat beside him.

"She's probably sleeping," Dean suggested, glancing over from his spot behind the wheel. "Or screwing Mick."

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam growled. "Will you stop?! People were dying and she made a choice to save them! We've made sketchier decisions! It doesn't mean she's joined them! Nor did she try to hide it from us!"

"Whatever," Dean groused, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Either way, I'm sure she's fine. Emmy would have called if she got into trouble."

"Unless she couldn't."

"Sam! Stop!"

"I'm just saying, Dean!" Sam insisted. "She doesn't turn her ringer off! She may have ignored  _ you _ after the bullshit you said, but not  _ me _ !"

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'll apologize when we see her again." 

Sam huffed in his seat, shooting his brother a dangerous glare.

"Listen, we've got another—what?—fifteen hours until we're even close to where she is?" Dean asked. "We'll keep trying to get a hold of her, and if we can't, we'll find her."

Sam nodded reluctantly, picking up his phone to send Emmy another text.

_ Please, call me. I'm starting to get worried. _

He really did hope he was overreacting to her radio silence.

* * *

Mick's team had rallied quickly, just like they always did. Within two hours, they had moved Emmy to the Cobblestone Inn and set up a makeshift base of operations in Mick's room. Serena Colman, his head of security and surveillance, was on three different computers, digitally retracing Mick and Emmy's steps. Alton Morehead, Mick's lead on weapons development and spell-work, was using an electrical device to scan over Emmy's body as she laid unconscious in the king-sized bed. Serena had changed Emmy's clothes and cleaned up the blood after samples were taken.

Mick was searching through the British Men of Letters databases and archives on his laptop, comparing the titles of the lore and spell-books along with her handwritten notes she had used to track the witch and find the counter-curse. His suit jacket was thrown over the back of his chair and the sleeves of his white dress shirt had been rolled up past his elbows, professional appearance forgotten after three hours of staring at the screen in front of him.

Alton sighed, tapping the device in his hand and walking over to Mick. "She's stable, for now."

Mick's eyes flicked up to the other man. "Why didn't the counter-curse work?"

"It did, mostly," Alton said, bringing the equipment in his hand up and tapping on the screen again. "From what I can tell of the readings, it's the only thing that kept the curse from killing her. There are other anomalies, however."

"Like?"

"Well," Alton started, placing his device on the table Mick sat at and picking up a notebook filled with Emmy's handwriting. "She writes here that she found some of the concoction the witch used on its victims, describing it as a dark brown powder. She goes on to list possible ingredients. I'm guessing the ones she scratched out were her omissions, but whatever did this to her was injected into her neck. So, it had to be a liquid."

"And more than likely more concentrated," Mick suggested. "Which means much stronger."

Alton nodded, placing the notebook back on the table. "Whoever did this thought it would be strong enough to kill her in seconds. She's lucky they were wrong and that you were there to throw yet another wrench into their plan. It could also mean that we are looking at a witch that's either in too much of a rush to pay attention to the details or doesn't have a good grasp on what they're doing and just wanted to inflict as much damage as possible."

Mick growled in frustration, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing his hands down his face. His gaze fell on Emmy and he had to swallow down the lump of guilt in his throat. He never should have left her alone in that room.

"How are you doing on locating the source of the counter-curse she used?" Alton asked, breaking through Mick's thoughts.

"I'm beginning to think she created it herself," Mick said honestly, flipping through a few pages of the notebook Alton had been looking at. "She's cross-referenced every component of that powder she found with what they can do on their own and combined with other substances." 

Mick paused to turn the page. "Then here, she's listed all the things that counteract those effects and came up with a few common denominators and how much she would need of each one." He stopped again to hand Alton the fully composed counter-curse that had been beside the laptop. "Everything matches up to what she's created there."

"Bloody hell," Alton breathed, reading over the spell in his hand and then once again going through Emmy’s notes. "This is damn impressive. I don't think even I could pull this off in three days."

"Two and a half," Mick reminded him. "And a lot of that was tracking down the things she needed for the spell."

"Right," Alton responded shortly.

The door to the room opening caught Mick's attention and he nodded in greeting to Ketch as the other Man of Letters entered the room.

"I have something," Serena said definitively, her eyes bouncing between the three screens in front of her.

All three men were standing behind her in a flash, staring at the security footage from Emmy's motel and the local hospital. 

"Here," Serena said, pointing to the far left screen that was showing Mick exiting his vehicle with the small black box in his hand. She paused the feed when he was halfway across the parking lot and pointed to the corner of the middle building where a man in a black hoodie stood with sunglasses covering his eyes. "This guy right here appears to be watching you. Just before you go to knock"—Serena zoomed the image in on the man and pressed play—"he runs behind the building."

Serena shifted in her seat and indicated the middle screen. The paused image was of Emmy and Mick leaving the on-call room on their way back to the parking garage. With a few clicks of her mouse, she zoomed in on the figure of the same man from the motel—barely visible—peeking his head around the corner behind the duo. 

"He was at the hospital, as well," Serena said. "He shows up a few times while you are there, but it appears he was smart enough to keep enough distance to not be spotted."

Serena turned to the right screen, where an image of Mick walking away from the motel room was displayed. She clicked on play and the footage showed the same man walk up to Emmy's door once Mick was out of the frame, only this time he didn't have on the sunglasses. He appeared to be listening at the door for a few minutes before he knocked. The door swung open a few seconds later and they watched him throw a punch and then lunge threw the doorway. Less than sixty seconds later, the hooded man dashed from the room and ran down the sidewalk, disappearing behind the building.

"Not long after that is when you come running back into the room," Serena said, looking over to Mick.

"I don't understand," Mick grumbled, walking back over to his table and picking up Emmy's notebook. He flipped back to the front, reading for a few moments before he looked back to his team. "Her notes of her investigation are meticulous. How did she miss that there was more than one witch?"

"I don't believe she did," Ketch finally spoke up. "I've done a little digging and went over her room with a fine-tooth comb. I believe she got bad Intel from the start."

Ketch pulled Emmy's cell phone from his pocket and laid it on the table. "She got the case from a hunter that's in her contacts as Marty. He sent her some things that stresses there was only  _ one _ witch and he had been tracking her for months. He told Emmeline that he was in Maine and that he would meet her in Oberlin. About a day later he calls, and that's the last correspondence they had. Obviously he never showed. Did she mention him to you?"

"Not once," Mick said. "Are you thinking he did this on purpose?"

"I make it a point to always assume the worst," Ketch said. "Much less disappointment that way. Either way, I intend to find out, and locate this other witch."

Mick nodded, looking over to Emmy. "Keep me updated."

Ketch nodded and glanced over to Alton and Serena, finding them both engrossed in their own tasks. He then picked up Emmy's phone to click on the screen, handing the device to Mick.

Mick looked down at the cellphone in his hand to find Emmy had twelve missed calls from Sam, six from Dean, and twenty or so texts between the two brothers. His stomach twisted into knots; he was going to have to inform the Winchesters of what was going on with their friend.

Ketch started to head for the door, motioning for Mick to follow. When they were out in the hallway, Ketch turned to Mick.

"The Winchesters are getting suspicious," he said.

"I see that," Mick replied, placing Emmy's cell phone in his pocket. "I have to call them."

"What?!" Ketch exclaimed, barely able to keep his voice from rising. "Are you daft?! Their friend is dying  _ on our watch _ ! That hardly constitutes good standing!"

"I already have my orders, Ketch!" Mick bit back. "If the Winchesters start looking for her, the old men want them informed. They believe us helping will sway them into getting on board."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Yes, well, that's not our call!"

Ketch bristled, clearly forcing his disdain down and reaching into the inside pocket of his suit to pull out a small bag of dark brown powder. "I found this in Emmeline's car. I believe it's a sample of what ailed those people."

He shoved the bag in Mick's hand before he turned to walk away. "Keep the Winchesters out of my way, would you? I have a witch to force some information from."

Mick angrily shook his head as he walked back inside the room, examining the substance inside the bag. "Alton, Ketch found something that may help."

Alton quickly walked over to Mick, taking the bag from the man's hand. "Is this what I think it is?"

"I believe so."

Alton simply nodded and made his way back over to the table Mick had been seated at earlier.

Emmy's phone started to buzz in his pocket and Mick took it out to see Dean's name flashing across the screen. He sighed and made his way out into the hallway without a word to his team. No sooner had Mick accepted the call and brought the device to his ear, then Dean's angry voice thundered out of the cell phone.

"Emmy! What the hell?! Where the fuck have you been?! I know we had a fight, but this is bullshit!"

Mick took a deep breath before he spoke. "This isn't Emmy, Dean."

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Dean responded, his anger now reaching dangerous levels. "MICK?! Where the hell is Emmy! I swear to God, if you've done  _ anything _ to her I  _ will _ kill you!"

"Control your temper, Dean!" Mick warned. "We've been trying to save her life!"

Mick quickly launched into the explanation of what had happened, ending with telling him he had "an operative" hunting down the witch that cursed her as they spoke. When he was finished, he heard what sounded like Dean hitting his steering wheel accompanied by the loud rev of the Impala's engine.

"We're ten hours from Oberlin," Dean seethed. "I promise you I will make it in less than eight. Keep her alive or it's  _ your _ ass I'm hunting next!"

* * *

"You're sure this is goin' to work?" Mick asked from his spot sitting at the end of Emmy's bed, watching Alton set up an IV pole and attach a clear IV bag filled with a watery, lavender liquid. "It doesn't look like what she used on the other victims."

Using Emmy's spell, research, diagrams, lists, cross-references, and the brown spell powder Ketch had found in her car, Alton had devised his own counter-curse. It had taken the Man of Letters almost all night to work out the technicalities.

"Honestly?" Alton asked, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "I don't know, but if we don't do something she  _ is _ going to die. Her fever has reached one hundred and five, her heart rate is increasing every thirty minutes, and we're close to having to intubate her."

Mick blew a rush of air from his lips, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands together.

Alton paused as he was cleaning the inside of Emmy's elbow with alcohol. "I followed her directions for my research," he said, causing Mick to turn his head towards him again. "But it comes down to doing nothing and letting her die, or trying something."

Mick gave no response, watching Alton take the IV tubing and attach it to the hanging bag then searching for a vein on Emmy's arm with the cannula at the ready. He moved to pierce Emmy's skin with the needle and paused, looking up to meet Mick's exhausted gaze.

"It's your call though," Alton said.

"Do it," Mick said, hoping he wasn't making the wrong decision. "How long will this take? We're looking at maybe two hours before the Winchesters get here, possibly less than that."

"I've set it pretty high," Alton said, motioning towards the drip chamber on the IV tubing before placing Medical tape on the cannula now in Emmy's arm. "Should only take about thirty, maybe forty-five minutes for the treatment to finish. Hopefully, we'll see some improvement before then."

Mick nodded and Alton stepped aside, both of them staring as the tube filled with the lavender liquid and enter Emmy's bloodstream. Silence fell over the two men for the next ten minutes, and Mick was grateful for it. He was long past keeping up the professional facade at this point. He hadn't known the woman still lying unconscious long, but in that short amount of time and the few times they had got to spend together, he had grown to care for her way more than he knew he should. Truth be told, he really didn't want to hide it anymore, or maybe he just didn't have the energy to. Either way, he knew this wasn't just orders from the old men for him.

Movement from Alton caught Mick's attention and he turned his head to see the other man reach for the stethoscope lying on the nightstand to put it on. Alton approached Emmy and hesitantly placed the diaphragm on her chest. With his free hand, Alton grabbed a forehead thermometer from the bedside table and placed it on Emmy's temple.

Mick held his breath until he heard the device beep and Alton turned back to him with a relieved grin on his face.

"Her heart rate is already back to normal and her fever is starting to go down," Alton told him. "She's not out of the woods just yet, but this is starting to work." 

"Thank God," Mick breathed, sitting up and scrubbing his hands down his face. "Why don't you go get some sleep, Alton? I'll stay with her."

"Are you sure?" Alton asked, placing the thermometer and stethoscope back on the nightstand.

"Yes," Mick replied. "You're just right down the hall if something happens, and I'm sure you don't want to deal with the Winchesters."

"You would be right with that," Alton said. "Hopefully they can see what we've done here."

"We'll see."

Alton took a moment to gather his things and a few minutes later, Mick was alone with the unconscious Emmy. The quiet wouldn't last long, however. Mick's phone began ringing inside his pocket and he pulled it out to find Ketch's name on the screen.

"Ketch," Mick greeted. "I hope you're calling with good news."

"Indeed," Ketch replied. "The witch is dead, along with the rest of the coven. Eight total, counting the one Emmeline disposed of."

"Any other information?"

"I'm working on that," Ketch said. "I have Serena running a trace on this Marty's phone number. For his sake, I hope he's more talkative than the witches. I'll keep you informed."

"Thank you, Mr. Ketch."

* * *

The IV bag was empty and Mick carefully removed the cannula from Emmy's arm, placing a small bandage before he sat down on the side of the bed next to her.

"You gotta wake up, Luv," Mick pleaded, turning to face her and take her hand into his.

In the forty-five minutes since Alton had hooked up the IV bag of magic concoction to Emmy, her heart rate and breathing had returned to normal, her temperature was back to where it should be, and the color was back to her skin. It was only within the last few minutes, however, that the dark brown lines staining her skin had faded. It all gave Mick a sense of hope he hadn't had since he found her covered in blood in her motel room. 

Emmy groaned suddenly, her body shifting uncomfortably on the bed as her eyes fluttered open. A rush of relief crashed over Mick, a weight lifting off his chest that he had thought would drown him before too long. He noticed her eyes darting around the room, the flight or fight response about to kick in.

"Hey," he said calmly, lightly squeezing her hand. "You're alright."

Her gaze snapped to him, her body instantly relaxing as a small smile crossed her lips. "I knew you'd save me. How long have I been out?"

"Almost twelve hours," Mick told her. "You remember anything?"

Emmy took a minute to answer. "Everything starts to get a bit fuzzy once that bastard shoved that needle in my neck, but I remember feeling like I was on fire and trying to call you."

"What happened before that?"

Emmy thought a moment more, her brow creasing in concentration. "I had a fight with Dean. When we hung up, there was a knock at the door. I thought it was you, and like an idiot, I didn't check, just opened the door. That's when that bastard jumped me. He said the witch I killed was his wife. The guy I got the case from had so much research saying it was just one witch. I should have known better."

"Ketch is investigating the lead you were given," Mick told her, clamping down on his anger toward the careless hunter that sent Emmy into this situation. "He also took out the rest of the coven. There were eight of them, counting the one you got rid of."

"Eight?!" Emmy exclaimed, forcing herself to sit up but keeping her hand in Mick's. "How in the hell did he miss  _ eight _ witches?!"

"That's what we are trying to find out," Mick said. "How well do you know the lad you got the case from?"

"Marty? Not well, honestly," Emmy admitted. "We've run into each other a couple times over the years, Raz and I've worked a few cases here and there with him. He always seemed legit though. You don't think…" Her words trailed off, not wanting to say it.

"We intend to find out," Mick said sternly. "Can you think of any reason why you would be a target for someone or something?"

"I'm a hunter, Mick," Emmy said. "It's kinda in the job description for things to want me dead."

A loud and angry knock at the door had Emmy jumping off the bed and to her feet, ready to fight. Mick, on the other hand, hung his head. He had a pretty good idea of who was on the other side of the door.

"Calm down, Luv," Mick told Emmy gently. "I believe it's Sam and Dean."

"You called them?!" Emmy exclaimed, her gaze cutting to him.

"I didn't have a choice," Mick said, standing from his spot on the bed. "They started ringing your phone off the hook and I was given orders to tell them the truth. I'm sorry."

"No, I understand," Emmy sighed. "They would have come in guns blazing if you hadn't."

Another loud knock followed by Dean's angry voice ended their conversation. "Dammit, Mick! Open the fucking door!"

Mick took a deep breath as he headed for the door, exhaling slowly and painting a smile on his face as he opened it. "Hello, lads! Just in time!"

Dean simply growled at the British Man of Letters, pushing past him to enter the room and immediately heading straight for Emmy to wrap his arms around her. Sam nodded at Mick, waiting for him to step aside before he entered.

"Emmy, I'm so sorry!" Dean said quickly, pulling away and holding Emmy at arm's length so he could look her over. His eyes narrowed when they focused on the nasty bruise upon her cheek. "What did they do to you?!"

"They saved my life," Emmy insisted. " _ Mick _ saved my life."

"I didn't do it alone—" Mick started.

"I don't need to hear from you!" Dean interrupted, rounding on the man. "Thanks for whatever, but you can leave now."

"Dean!" Sam and Emmy both scolded.

"No!" Dean shouted. "This is the second time one of us has almost died when these guys were involved!"

"Dean, just listen!" Emmy pleaded. "Mick didn't have anything to do with this! He was helping me!"

"How do you know he didn't orchestrate this whole thing?!" Dean demanded, turning back to Emmy. "Sam and I were almost killed by that one bitch, then this guy comes in to save the day?! Then this shit happens to you and he just so happens to save the day again?! How do you not find this sketchy as hell?! He's using you, Emmy!"

"I am not!" Mick seethed. "Make all the assumptions you want, Dean, but don't you dare say I'm bloody using her!"

Dean whipped around to advance on Mick, but Sam was between the two men in an instant.

"Dean!" Sam said pleadingly. "Stop! We have a witch we need to find. We don't have time for this."

"Actually," Emmy spoke up, her voice thick with anger. "One of Mick's guys took out the whole coven."

"Really?" Sam said, clearly impressed as he turned his head to Mick.

"Yes," Mick said, a glare locked on the eldest Winchester.

"Great!" Dean said, venom lacing his words. "Then we're done here and you can leave!"

"Dean!" Emmy growled.

"It's fine," Mick said, pointedly walking around Dean to Emmy. "You don't need this yelling right now, and if me leaving gets it to stop, then I will. I'm right across the hall if you need me, however."

Emmy nodded, a hint of tears in her eyes. Mick wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and wipe them away.

"Your things are already in your car; mobile is on the nightstand," he told her.

Fighting against everything inside him, Mick left the room with Dean Winchester's glare boring into his back.

* * *

Emmy's guilt and loyalty to the Winchesters caused her to let them take her from the hotel room down to the parking garage where her Mustang sat a few spaces down from the Impala. However, her mind kept drifting back to Mick the entire walk there. She could see in his eyes that he hadn't wanted to leave her, but he knew that Dean was just going to get worse if he stayed.

Maybe it was for the best. Sam may have been much calmer about the situation, but Emmy knew he felt the same way Dean did. They didn't trust the British Men of Letters and with damn good reason, which is why her guilt was now threatening to swallow her whole. Yet, she still couldn't help wanting to see Mick again.

Dean kept walking once they got to her vehicle, his heavy footsteps continuing until he got in his own car. Sam sighed heavily, turning to Emmy to pull her into a hug.

"I'm sorry about, Dean," he told her. "He just really doesn't trust them."

"I know," Emmy said, letting her head rest against the younger Winchester's chest. "I get it, I do. But Mick really has been a huge help."

Sam pulled away, uncertainty written all over his face. "Are you alright to drive?" he asked.

There was no hiding that wasn't what he really wanted to say; he was just trying to keep the peace. Emmy sighed, looking over to the Impala.

"I'm fine," she said and reached into her pocket for her keys.   
  


Which weren’t there.

"Dammit!" she grumbled.

"What's wrong?"

"I think Mick still has my keys.”

"I'll go get them."

"No," Emmy said, already turning to leave. "I'm a big girl, Sam. I can get my keys. I'll be right back."

* * *

Emmy stood outside the door to Mick's room, nervousness causing her to fidget and hesitate on knocking. She shook her head at herself. Why was she being like this?! All she had to do was knock, get her keys, and leave. She didn't even have to go inside the room, even though deep down she really wanted to.

Those thoughts were dangerous and she knew it. Sam and Dean had been family for well over a decade. She shouldn't be having these thoughts about someone that was working for people who hurt them. It wasn't worth losing two of the most important people in her life.

Straightening her posture and pushing her feelings aside, Emmy knocked on the door. A few seconds later, Mick answered with a surprised look on his face.

For the first time, Emmy saw just how exhausted he looked. She knew what had gone into finding the first counter-curse, and that it was more than likely worse with curing her, judging from the IV pole she had spotted when she had woken up. Not to mention finding the witches and ganking them. It was clear now that Mick was neck-deep in every part of it. The exhaustion in his face and the wrinkled and rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt were definite indicators of that. Saving her really had been the most important thing to him.

"Emmy…" he started, unsure of what to say. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I uh...I think you still have my keys."

"Right!" he said, realization dawning on him. "They're in my jacket. Come on in and I'll get them."

Emmy followed him inside, closing the door behind her. She watched him go to the bed where his suit jacket has been carelessly tossed and retrieve her keys from the inside pocket. He turned, crossing back over to her and holding them out.

"Thanks," she said, taking her keys and shoving them in her pocket. "Listen, I'm sorry about Dean. He's a little overprotective."

That smile that made butterflies erupt in her stomach lit up Mick's eyes and Emmy felt her resolve falter.

"I get it. It's fine," he said. 

There was a brief moment of silence between them before he finally met her gaze. Something inside of her suddenly felt like it was pulling her towards him and when his eyes flicked to her lips, she knew she should leave.

But she didn't.

Mick tentatively closed the distance between them, giving her time to pull away. When she didn't, his hand came up to brush an errant strand of her golden blonde tresses behind her ear. In the next instant, his lips were on hers and she melted into him.

Her arms wound around his neck, his circling around her midsection to pull her flush against him. The kiss was sweet and slow, their lips moving together in a rhythm that found them effortlessly.

For a moment, she lost herself in the warmth and intoxicating feel of his embrace. The enticing scent of his cologne, the faint taste of scotch on his tongue as it slid across hers, the feel of his firm body against hers, all of it combined and sent her head spinning. However, Dean's face and words suddenly invaded her thoughts and she found herself reluctantly pulling away from Mick with tears in her eyes.

"Mick," she whispered. "I'm sorry! I can't do this."

She turned, not giving him a chance to reach out for her, and quickly headed for the door.

"Emmy! Wait! Please!"

His plea tore at her heart in a way she'd never felt before. Yet, she never stopped, jerking the door open and slamming it behind her. She took off at a run to the steps at the end of the hallway, never stopping until she was back to Sam.

* * *

Patience was a virtue—it was also something that Mr. Arthur Ketch had plenty of when he needed it. For example, hunting down the "Marty" that had sent Emmy the case that nearly killed her had taken almost three days, then waiting for the opportune moment had taken another fifteen hours. 

Marty was driving down a dark, deserted patch of highway somewhere in Montana when Ketch seized his moment. The British Man of Letters drove his black 2012 Bentley Continental Flying Spur up behind Marty's dirty, yellow pinto, flipping on built-in lights that looked very close to those on a police cruiser. Marty instantly pulled his vehicle to the side of the road and Ketch grinned wickedly as he pulled in behind him.

The Man of Letters shut his engine off, adjusting his tie while he exited his Bentley. He could see Marty watching him suspiciously in the Pinto's side mirror, the light gray Gucci suit quite obviously sending the hunter on alert. Marty was out of his vehicle before Ketch was halfway between the two cars, his dark brown eyes watching the Britishman closely.

"Martin Carpenter?" Ketch asked in an unbothered professional tone.

"Who wants to know?" Marty replied, distrust all over his face.

"Oh, where are my manners?" Ketch said with a disarming smile. "Arthur Ketch, British Men of Letters."

"Oh, I've heard of your bunch!" Marty laughed, turning back to his car. "One of you guys is making your rounds trying to recruit us. I'm not interested."

Ketch's grin grew. He so loved it when they chose the hard way. "Actually, mate, I'm not here to recruit you."

"Then what do you want?" Marty asked, slowly moving to face Ketch again.

"Am I correct in assuming you know a one Emmeline Turner?"

"Yeah, I know Emmy. What of it?"

"Well," Ketch started, moving across the pavement to stand directly in front of the man, who showed no visible signs of being intimidated by the now murderous glint in his eyes. "You see, she was given some bad Intel on a very crucial part of a hunt recently. I'm here to find out why."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Marty insisted.

"Wrong answer, Mr. Carpenter," Ketch said matter of factly, pulling an H&K USP Compact 9mm from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and aiming it at Marty's foot before pulling the trigger.

Marty screamed, dropping to the ground. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Ketch immediately grabbed the other man by his short black hair, forcing Marty's head to look up at him. "To be quite honest, I don't really care if the girl lives or dies. However, the people I work for seem to think she is a vital component in accomplishing our goals. So, let's try that again, shall we?"

"I don't know nothin', man!" Marty shouted, tears in his eyes.

Ketch sighed in annoyance and aimed his gun at Marty's groin. "Last chance."

"OK!! OK!!" Marty shouted frantically, trying to squirm from Ketch's grip. "I was paid a lot of freakin' money to give Emmy the wrong information to get her to Oberlin, Kansas!"

"By whom?" Ketch raised the gun to point it at Marty’s face.

"Demon!" Marty said, his eyes locked on the weapon. "His name's Djall!"

"Why does he want Emmeline?"

"I don't know!"

Annoyance deepened the features in Ketch's expression and he pressed the barrel of his gun painfully against Marty's temple.

"I swear, man, I don't know!" Marty cried, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please! I promise, I don't know anything else!"

Ketch huffed regretfully. He really hoped there was going to be more information to persuade out of the hunter. "Yes, I believe you, unfortunately. Oh, well."

There was no hesitation or remorse in Ketch's expression as he fired a bullet into Marty's head and let the man's lifeless body fall unceremoniously to the blacktop.

Replacing his firearm and pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Ketch dialed a number and placed the device to his ear.

"Ketch," Mick said from the other end of the line after two rings. "Did you find him?"

"Indeed," Ketch replied, heading back to his car. "He's dead now. It seems Mr. Carpenter was paid a large sum of money by a demon named Djall to give Emmeline the wrong information."

"Why?"

"Apparently he didn't ask questions," Ketch said distastefully, pulling open his car door and getting inside to start the engine. "We should probably speak with Emmeline and see if the name means anything to her. I presume  _ you _ will make that call?"

"I will attempt it."

"Attempt it?" Ketch questioned, navigating his car back on to the road and speeding away. "The two of you seemed to be just jolly good pals the last I checked."

"Things change," Mick growled.

Ketch scoffed, rolling his eyes with distaste. "I will take care of it then."

* * *

_ I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cross a boundary I shouldn't have. _

_ Can we please talk about this? _

_ Emmy, please, talk to me! _

_ I really am sorry. _

_ I'm still here if ever you need anything. _

From the front passenger’s seat of the Impala, Emmy scrolled through the text messages from Mick on her phone, leaning her side against the door, her arm resting in the window sill with her head propped on her hand. It had been a week since their kiss—their kiss that she had abruptly ended—and he was still at the forefront of her mind. Even with the task of helping the Winchesters find Lucifer in full swing, the British Man of Letters kept slipping into her mind. It had taken every bit of willpower she possessed not to reply to any of his messages or to return his calls. Luckily, he appeared to have given up after five days. Still, she couldn't deny she missed him, but keeping a distance between them was for the best.

Emmy sighed despondently, looking up at the hardware store in Lebanon that the Impala was parked in front of. The shop had received a shipment of rock salt to prepare for the snow that typically came in December and she had tagged along with Sam to pick up a few bags. Not that they would be using it for melting snow.

Her phone buzzing in her hand nearly had her jumping out of her skin and she looked down to find a text from a number she didn't recognize.

_ We need to talk. Look to your right. _

Confused, Emmy looked up in the direction indicated, but her expression turned angry when she spotted Arthur Ketch. He was leaning against the driver's side of a black Bentley across the parking lot with his hands clasped together in front of him. What did this douche bag want?

After a quick look through the store window revealed that Sam was at the very end of a long line of customers, Emmy exited the Impala and walked over to where Ketch was waiting.

"What do you want?" she spat.

"Ignoring common courtesy I see," he remarked, studying her with disdain. "No matter, I would rather get down to business myself. I imagine Sam will be done with his shopping soon and I'm sure you wouldn't want him to see us conversing."

"How did you even find me, Ketch?" Emmy demanded, folding her arms over her chest.

"You’re staying in a Men of Letters bunker," Ketch replied matter of factly. "It wasn't that hard. Waiting for you to be away from the Winchesters? That took some effort."

"What do you want?" Emmy asked again, rolling her eyes.

"Well, since you've decided to cease your communication with Mr. Davies," he started to explain. "I'm who you get to deal with."

"That didn't answer my question."

Ketch sighed in annoyance, his eyes narrowing on her. "Does the name Djall mean anything to you?"

Emmy froze, the name sending a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold temperature outside. "Why?"

"It appears he paid Martin Carpenter a large sum of money to lead you into the hands of those witches, and I can't help but wonder why."

Emmy directed a hard stare at the man in front of her, debating over whether or not she should tell him anything.

"We're just trying to help, Emmeline," Ketch insisted. "Any information you have would be quite useful."

"Fine," Emmy exhaled sharply. "He used to work for the demon that murdered my parents. Shouldn't you have this information in the damn file you have on me?"

"Obviously we do not," Ketch said. "Or I wouldn't have to be wasting my time with this back and forth. Do you have the name of this other demon?"

"Desmond," Emmy said reluctantly. "But he died five years ago."

"And you know this how?"

"Because I shoved the angel blade through his chest myself."

The Man of Letters regarded her carefully for a moment before he spoke again. "Do you have any information on this Desmond?"

"All I can tell you is that he was demented, even by demon standards," Emmy explained. "He liked to collect things—people, creatures, angels—and use them for his own twisted brand of entertainment. Djall was his lapdog basically; didn't really amount to much from what I could tell."

"I see," Ketch mused, mulling over the information in his mind. "Well thank you Ms. Turner," he said, turning to get back in his car. "I'll contact you if we need any more information."

"Wait!" Emmy exclaimed, a thought suddenly occurring to her. "What did you do to Marty?"

Ketch slowly turned back to her. "He's dead," he said matter of factly.

"You killed him?!"

"He tried to kill  _ you _ , Emmeline!" Ketch retorted. "At the time you were working with one of ours, and by extension that made you one of us as well. We live by an absolute code, Ms. Turner, one we all follow without question. It's what sets us apart from the monsters and demons you American hunters can't seem to get a grasp on! The code states that harming one of us is a transgression punished by execution."

All Emmy could do was blink in shock at the man as he opened his car door and got in, rolling his window down after starting the engine. "I'm guessing you would stupidly deny our offer of protection, so take the necessary steps to ward yourself. You have my number if you find yourself in need of assistance."

He didn't wait for a response, simply rolling up his window and promptly driving away. Emmy watched him until his car was out of sight and then made her way back to the Impala, her mind swarming at a million miles a minute. She had just sat down, closing the car door, when Sam came rushing out the store. Emmy watched him curiously as he hurriedly tossed the rock salt into the trunk and got back in the driver's seat.

"Dean may have a lead on Lucifer," he said, answering her unspoken question while starting the vehicle. "We gotta head out as soon as we get back. You coming?"

"Do you need me to?"

Sam paused, glancing over to her while he navigated the Impala out of the parking lot and on to the road. "Not right away, I guess. I thought you might want to get out of the bunker for more than just a supply run though. You've seemed really down the past week."

"I'm fine, Sam," she said, dismissing his concern. There were things she needed to take care of now that Ketch had dropped this information in her lap, but the way Sam was looking at her told her it would have to wait. "You're right. I'll go."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OC insert into S12E8 "LOTUS" with added scenes from Mick and Emmy's story line.

The three hour trip to the morgue where Wallace Parker was lying with his eyes burnt out of his head had taken less time than Emmy suspected. Castiel and Crowley had already been there, so there really wasn't much else to do. It was obvious Lucifer was long gone; Parker was merely just a used shell now. However, the man that Castiel had called "the very powerful CEO of everything" also cemented the type of vessel Lucifer was targeting: powerful individuals with pull. Celebrities, and captains of industries, just to name a few.

As a result, the Winchesters and Emmy returned to the bunker very close to being back at square one. At least their search field was narrowed down a fraction. 

It was less than twenty-four hours later when Sam discovered the connection between Wallace Parker and the Archbishop of St. Louis. They had been together a mere two days prior to the CEO's death when the Archbishop had accepted a sizable donation from Wallace. Shortly after Mr. Parker had died, pictures of the Archbishop surfaced showing that he was no longer wearing the large and heavy cross around his neck that he normally wore in every other picture. His office had also canceled  _ all  _ further public appearances. It was a long shot, but the Winchesters and Emmy headed for St. Louis to check it out.

Everything had been unsettlingly quiet when the trio arrived at the Archdiocese of St. Louis and when they rang the bell at the front entrance only to receive no answer, the dread set in. They went in to find the proof that Lucifer had in fact been possessing the Archbishop. However, not only was the man dead—his eyes turned into blackened husks—but every person inside the Archdiocese had perished by Lucifer's hands when they attempted an exorcism to the leader of their denomination.

It was back to the drawing board...again.

That was when Emmy decided she needed to meet up with Raz. Aside from the ever-present Lucifer issue that he could possibly shed some light on, she needed to discuss with him the information Ketch had brought to her, and she had been putting it off long enough. 

Her wanting to leave hadn't gone over well. Of course, she hadn't expected it to, especially not with Dean. While the two had said their apologies, there was still an undercurrent of friction between them that both chose to ignore wholeheartedly. So when Emmy announced she was going down to Kinsley, Kansas for the day it had sparked an argument between her and the elder Winchester that Sam wasn't able to diffuse until Castiel had gotten to the bunker. Emmy left shortly after with a promise to Sam that she would be back later the same night.

Three hours later, Emmy was parking her Mustang next to an old, beat up, Chevy pickup truck in the parking lot of a small park that was mostly deserted on a school day in December. Sitting on the open tailgate of the truck with a beer in his hand was a tall man with a sharp athletic build. His long auburn hair pulled into a tight ponytail shimmered like a halo in the sunlight and framed the chiseled features of his face. His gray-blue eyes sparkled with a smile that dressed his features upon Emmy's arrival.

"Hey, Shortcake," the man said, tossing his bottle into a nearby trash can as Emmy got out of her car. "Didn't expect to see you for another couple days."

"Hey, Raz," Emmy greeted, coming around to sit on the tailgate with him. "There's a lot going on."

Raz's brow furrowed, looking Emmy up and down carefully to study her closely. "Were you cursed recently?" 

"Uh...yeah," Emmy confirmed. "We took care of it."

"Why didn't Sam and Dean call me?! Why didn't you?!"

"Sam and Dean weren't the ones that broke it," Emmy said cautiously.

Raz squinted at her in speculation. "Who were you with?"

"The British Men of Letters," Emmy admitted. "Well, one of them, until I got cursed; then he called in reinforcements."

"Since when are you working with those asshats?! I thought you told them to shove it up their ass?!"

"I'm not working with them!" Emmy said defensively. "I needed an ingredient that I couldn't find for a counter-curse, so I called Mick—"

"Mick?!" Raz interrupted. "Davies? The suit that's trying to recruit all the hunters into a Monster Mission Impossible fantasy? You're on a first-name basis?"

"He's not a bad guy! He's helped me twice now and we've even had dinner together."

Raz gasped, a wide grin spreading over his face. Emmy covered her face with her hands, realizing she had said entirely too much.

"Shortcake! You didn't tell me you went on a  _ date _ with him?!" Raz exclaimed, his excitement permeating around him.

"It wasn't a date!" Emmy argued. "Just two people, having a meal together."

"Uh-huh," Raz said. "Was there any point when you were sitting close enough to him that your thighs touched?"

Emmy's mouth opened and closed, trying to formulate a response.

"Were either of you touchy?" Raz continued. "Or testing the waters for it? Holding hands maybe?"

Emmy's mouth stayed open, a blush now covering her cheeks. Raz nodded, laughter bubbling from his chest.

"You went on a date, Shortcake!" Raz said, wrapping his arm around Emmy's shoulders.

"He kissed me," Emmy sighed, her gaze falling to the ground.

"And you didn't think it was a date?!" Raz asked, narrowing his gaze on her in perplexity. "Come on, Shortcake."

"No!" Emmy said, looking up at him. "Not then. After the curse was taken care of."

"Oh," Raz said, slowly starting to put the pieces together. " _ Oh _ . Sam and Dean must not be cool with this."

"They don't know about the kiss, or dinner." Emmy took a deep breath before she continued. "Or that I was planning on going out with him again before I got cursed."

Emmy sighed at the skeptical look in her friend's eyes and proceeded to tell him everything that had happened with Mick, continuing on to relay what was going on with Lucifer and finishing with the conversation between herself and Ketch.

Raz raked a hand over his hair, a rush of air blowing from between his lips. "You really should have told me all of this sooner. We don't keep stuff like this from each other for good reason."

"I know," Emmy admitted. "I guess I was just trying to sort through it in my own head first."

Raz nodded, another sigh escaping him. "I don't even know where to start."

"Maybe the most important?" Emmy suggested, earning her a bemused lift of an eyebrow from her friend. "Lucifer. The Devil. Dude that's killing people for fun. Have you heard anything?"

"Why would I know anything?"

Emmy crossed her arms over her chest and directed a pointed look at her friend.

"What?!" Raz exclaimed. "I'm an ex-reaper! You really think I'm going to be sticking my nose in  _ anything _ angel related? I don't even like Castiel knowing I'm alive."

Emmy huffed regretfully and dropped her hands to her sides, gripping the end of the tailgate with her fingers. "I don't even know what we're going to do when we find him. It's not like we have anything that can hurt him. I mean, Rowena said she'd help send him back to the cage, but he has to be out of his vessel for that."

"Maybe the Brits could help?" Raz suggested. "’Enemy of my enemy’ and all that."

"That's a hard no on Sam and Dean's part, and I don't really blame them," Emmy countered. "And I'm pretty sure I royally screwed up my chance with Mick."

Raz raised an eyebrow at her wording and she immediately started backpedaling.

"I mean, screwed up my chances with him being so willing to help!"

"Maybe you should call or text him back."

"I'm sure he doesn't want to talk to me now."

Raz sighed, removing his arm from around Emmy's shoulders and leaning back to prop himself up with his arms. "Do  _ you _ trust the Brits?"

"I trusted Mick," Emmy said quietly. "Dean's convinced he was just using me though."

"To get to them?"

Emmy simply nodded.

"Do you trust this Ketch dude?" Raz asked.

"Not at all."

"Emmy," Raz started, obvious hesitation in his voice. "I know you said they didn't know what all went down with your parents’ deaths or how we met, but...if he's looking into Djall...they could possibly find out a lot more than either of us want them to."

"I'm more concerned about what Djall is up to," Emmy said. "Especially if he's picking up where Desmond left off."

Raz nodded solemnly, mulling over the information in his mind. "I'll see what I can find out. I got the impression that Mick thought I was human when he tried to recruit me. So, I've got that advantage if I run into Ketch while doing so."

Emmy turned to meet Raz's gaze. "You met Mick? You didn't tell me that. Now who’s keeping stuff secret?!"

"Didn't think it mattered at the time," Raz shrugged. "I didn't know you were gonna start dating the dude."

"I'm not dating him!"

"Anyway," Raz continued with a grin that very clearly said he didn't believe her. "Just stay close to the Winchesters or the bunker until I can find something on Djall. I don't think the witch cursing you was supposed to be part of the plan. That was never their style."

"I should be helping you!" Emmy insisted. "This is  _ both _ our problem."

"Yes, but right now you need to help save the world from Lucifer with the Winchesters," Raz told her. "Divide and conquer."

Emmy nodded; she didn't like Raz investigating anything where he could cross paths with Arthur Ketch. While the British Men of Letters didn't seem to have a problem with angels, she wasn't sure how a reaper-turned-hunter would go over. Unfortunately, she could see in Raz's eyes that he had made up his mind.

A sigh left Emmy's lips as she jumped down from the tailgate. "You wanna go grab something to eat with me before I head back to Lebanon?"

"Sure," Raz said. "There's a little diner in town that has a red velvet cheesecake that you would absolutely love." 

He hopped down as well, closing the tailgate and turning back to Emmy. "First things first though: Shirt up, let me see," he said, gesturing towards her torso.

"Is it that obvious?" Emmy asked, gripping the hem of her shirt and pulling it up to bunch under her breasts and revealing a large white bandage. It was taped over the left side of her torso just under her ribs and extended down to her hip.

"No, I just figured with the curse it would have come back early," Raz explained, reaching over to remove the bandage. He sucked a breath of air between his teeth at the deep jagged cut that was beneath the bandage. "And I was right! How long has this been back?"

"It started the day after I woke up from the curse, so two weeks?"

"Why didn't you call me? Or hell, have Castiel take care of it?" 

Raz hovered his hand over the wound on Emmy's side, pausing to look around before his hand started to glow with a blue-tinted white light. When the lights had faded, Emmy's injury was gone and Raz dropped his hand to his side.

"You had just healed it," Emmy told him, lowering her shirt. "Plus, I didn't want to give Dean another thing to blame Mick for. And Cas, he hasn't really been around until today. I didn't want to ask him in front of Crowley either."

"Well, you're good to go now," Raz said, taking the bandage and wadding it up to toss it into a nearby trash can. "Just try not to get cursed again so it will actually last seven weeks like it normally does."

"Thanks, Raz," Emmy said with a smile. "Now, about that cheesecake..."

The cell phone ringing in Emmy's pocket interrupted their conversation and she pulled it out to find Dean's name. She sighed heavily, accepting the call and holding the device to her ear.

"Hey, Dean."

"Emmy," Dean started, his voice holding an air of dread that sent a pit growing in Emmy's stomach. "You need to get back as soon as you can. We know who Lucifer is possessing."

"Who?" Emmy asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.

"Jefferson Rooney. The President."

Emmy's heart jumped into her throat and nausea rolled through her stomach. How the hell were they supposed to get close to the President?!

"I'm on my way."

* * *

It was a brisk morning in Alexandria, Louisiana. The sun shone brightly in the sky, birds chirped in the trees, and the patients of Longleaf Hospital were enjoying some time outdoors with their nurses and a few orderlies. At the front entrance to the mental health facility, Mick and Ketch exited the building through a double glass door framed by baby blue brick that bled into brown the further they walked down the sidewalk. Both men held indications of frustration and disappointment in their features. However, Ketch's was laced with a distinct current of annoyance.

"This whole bloody trip was a waste of our time," Ketch groused, his eyes focused on the rental car at the back of the parking lot. "How can nobody remember anything? Why wasn't this looked into back then? I understand the American hunters are unorganized and can't seem to grasp the larger picture right in front of them most of the time, but this is preposterous. Thirty people went missing, and the few that popped back up were either certifiably insane like Mr. Wilcox back there or just simply didn't remember where they had been!"

"There were demons involved," Mick reminded him. "God only knows what they put those people through, and what magic they used on them."

"Yes, well, one thing is clear," Ketch replied. "Emmeline knows more than she's saying."

"Can't say I blame her," Mick said. "From what we've been able to uncover about this Desmond, he was one twisted bastard. She was also sixteen at the time; her parents may have sheltered her. She didn't really show up as a hunter herself until after they died, and her only affiliations for the longest time were Bobby Singer, Rufus Turner—no relation—and Raz Bennett."

"I remember," Ketch said shortly. "I read the file as well. Mr. Bennett didn't surface until she did either. You met with him, correct?"

"Yes," Mick confirmed. "A few days before Emmy. Seems like a talented hunter—turned down working with us though. Then he fell off our radar."

"That's unusual."

"I agree."

Ketch huffed his frustrations as the two men approached their respective sides of the car.

"Looks like I need to pay a visit to Mr. Bennett," Ketch said, climbing into the driver's side while Mick got in the passenger's.

Mick nodded, picking up his cell phone that was in the cup holder. His eyes immediately went wide at the missed call notification on his screen. Unfortunately there was no voicemail to accompany it.

"Actually," Mick said, looking over to Ketch and showing him the phone in his hand. "You may want to pay the Winchesters a visit. Sam called while we were in there."

"Why not you?"

"They wouldn't call unless they had no choice," Mick explained. "Which means they may need your certain brand of expertise. It might help to see what kind of support they can receive first hand."

Ketch simply grumbled under his breath.

* * *

As expected, the President of the United States was not an easy man to get close to; Lucifer had definitely chosen his vessel well this time. Even with the fallen archangel on a fundraising tour through the Midwest and staying at an estate right outside of Indianapolis owned by a hedge fund zillionaire, finding a break in security was proving nearly impossible. The estate was completely surrounded by walls, security surveillance, Secret Service, and the military. The President's packed speaking schedule consisting of at least three events a day and a gala dinner on Friday night didn't bode well for the Winchesters, Emmy, and Castiel either. He would without a doubt be guarded like a piece of priceless art then as well.

Emmy stared at her laptop screen from her seat at the map table in the war room. Endless research and information had started to blur together, causing her to rest her elbow on the surface of the table to prop her head in her hand. The sound of Castiel entering the room had her glancing up, a smile on her face when she spotted the two ceramic mugs of coffee in the angel's hands.

But her smile quickly faded, replaced with a sharp spike of fear when Castiel's hands started shaking, the dark liquid inside the mugs spilling onto the floor. His whole body trembled and the cups went crashing to the ground, sending coffee and ceramic shards across the cement floor. The angel cried out in pain, bringing one hand to the side of his head.

"Cas!" Emmy exclaimed, jumping from her seat and running to the angel as his free hand slammed on the map table.

Emmy grabbed on to his arm, attempting to support his weight while he leaned on the map table for stability. He was still groaning in pain, his eyes staring off aimlessly when Sam and Dean came running in.

"Cas?! Cas?!" Dean said urgently, hurrying over to grab the angel's other arm. "Hey!"

Sam rushed to stand behind his brother, ready to jump in if needed. All the while, Castiel was still gripping the side of his head and grunting.

"Cas?!" Emmy called. "Cas, what's wrong?!"

"Something's happened!" Castiel groaned loudly as if he was trying to speak over a crowd.

Emmy's gaze flew to Dean's and she could see the same dread in his eyes that was gripping her chest tightly.

"Something…" Castiel continued. "Angel radio...There are so many voices."

"What are they saying?" Sam asked hesitantly, his eyes bouncing between the three in front of him.

Castiel let out a low groan, taking a deep breath while his eyes darted around the room. "There's been a massive surge in celestial energy."

Emmy swallowed hard, watching the angel look straight ahead with a horrified expression upon his face which sent chills down her spine. "What does that mean?"

"A nephilim is come into being," he stated, finally meeting the three human's worried gazes. "It's the offspring of an angel and a human."

Emmy turned her attention to Sam and Dean, their confusion-laced anxiety mirroring her own.

"And that's big news?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Castiel confirmed. "But the power to produce this is immense. It's much, much greater than a typical angel."

The breath in Emmy's lungs caught in her throat. Only one name came to mind and it sent a sickening feeling rolling through every part of her. "No!" she whispered.

"Lucifer?!" Sam exclaimed.

Castiel nodded gravely, his gaze traveling between the three humans at his side.

"Wh—Lucifer?!" Dean stuttered."I didn't know he was dating."

"We have to get to Indianapolis—Now!" Emmy said.

"And do what?!" Dean demanded, his gaze narrowing on her. "We still can't get close to him!"

"She's right, Dean," Castiel said, pulling himself up to stand on his own. "We'll figure out the details when we get there."

"Then let's get packed up and out of here," Sam said, leaving no room for questions. "I'll get a hold of Crowley and Rowena in the car."

* * *

The sun was just starting to set when Dean sped the Impala past a road sign that said they were fifty miles from Indianapolis. Emmy and Castiel watched and listened from the backseat to Sam while he spoke to Crowley on his phone, Dean's gaze shifting between his brother and the road in front of him every few seconds.

"Yeah, and hey, Crowley?" Sam said into the receiver, his tone cautious. "Uh, find out from your government mole if there's a girlfriend or a mistress or a favorite hooker." He glanced at his brother, the underlying worry still prevalent. 

"Someone we don't know about," the younger Winchester continued, pausing for Crowley to speak. "Got it." Sam quickly ended the call and turned in his seat to address everyone. "Alright, Crowley and Rowena will meet us in Indianapolis. Do we have a plan?"

"Impeach LOTUS and find Rosemary's Baby," Dean said without missing a beat.

"Don't die or get arrested," Emmy added.

"Yes, let's not do either of those," Castiel agreed.

"Yeah," Sam scoffed, raking a hand through his hair and leaning back in his seat. "Let's not."

A heavy silence fell between the quartet as Dean turned left onto another long stretch of highway. Emmy's brain hadn't gotten out of overdrive since Castiel dropped the nephilim bomb. How were they supposed to pull this one off? Even if they got to Lucifer and somehow managed to pop him out of the President without killing the leader of the free world and shoved the devil back in his cage, just what in the hell were they supposed to do about a damn half-human/half-angel baby? If it was what Castiel said, it could burn the whole world to the ground. However, at the end of the day, it was still just a mom and her kid. Would any of them be able to go through with what needed to be done? Would the mother? Was it even possible?

The shrill sound of sirens punched through Emmy's thoughts and her eyes met Dean's in the rear-view mirror for the briefest of moments.

"Aw, crap!" Dean groused, looking at a black SUV with tinted windows and red and blue flashing lights quickly approaching behind them.

Emmy spun in her seat, along with Castiel and Sam, to see what was causing Dean's grief.

"Dammit, Dean!" Emmy scolded. "I told you not to speed through here! Cops are everywhere!"

"That doesn't look like a regular cop," Sam said gravely.

Dean simply growled in frustration, slowing down his vehicle while the SUV sped around them and parked on the side of the road. The elder Winchester pulled in behind the other vehicle, making certain to keep ample space between them.

"Alright," Dean said, turning to Emmy and Castiel in the backseat. "Stay here. We got this."

"Dean!" Emmy started.

"Please, Emmy!" he interrupted. "Just stay here!"

She reluctantly nodded and watched while Dean turned off the ignition. After a final glance at each other, both brothers exited the car and three men in Black suits got out of the SUV. If this was who she thought it was, they were in serious trouble.

The brothers closed their doors and started to stand in front of the Impala. Castiel and Emmy stayed completely silent in order to hear the muffled conversation through the steel of the classic car’s cab and its windows.

"Gentleman, is there a problem?" Sam asked, coming to stand next to his brother.

Dean didn't bother waiting for a response, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out his fake FBI badge. Emmy sucked in a sharp breath; this wasn't going to go over well.

"Federal Agents, guys. We need to keep going," Dean told the three suited men with the utmost confidence.

The shorter of the three men walked up to Dean, his midnight hair rustling in the wind. A small smirk graced his lips that put an arrogant glint in his dark brown eyes. Emmy could just make out clear headset pieces nestled in each man's ear, the outline of a holstered gun on their hips, and the government plates on the SUV. Oh, this was really bad.

"And I need six grand by Saturday, but that ain't happening either," the dark-haired man snarked.

The confident smirk that Dean sent in his brother's direction had Emmy fuming. Did neither one of them see what was happening here?!

"You guys know who you're talking to?" Sam scoffed.

Apparently not.

"Winchesters," the dark-haired man said calmly, his stare locked on Dean.

Son of a bitch! Lucifer sent out the guard dogs armed with their real identities. They were fucked. Emmy finally saw a shred of worry pass between the brothers and her mind reeled with scenario after scenario, none of which ended with them walking away from this one.

"You make those toy badges in craft class on the psyche ward?" The brown-eyed man asked condescendingly. He paused to look over at the Impala, his gaze raking over Emmy and Castiel before it fell back to Dean. "Nice car, by the way. Really stands out."

That's when everything erupted. The man talking to Dean started to pull his gun and the elder Winchester lunged forward to punch him. Sam attempted to indicate he meant no harm, but the other two men were advancing on him quickly. More hits started flying, sending one of the men crashing into the door Emmy and Castiel were trying to exit out of. The two wordlessly flipped their plans and started to scramble out the other side, finding Sam and Dean with their hands in the air and three guns pointed at them when they were outside the vehicle.

Emmy slowly and cautiously started to move towards the Winchesters. Castiel, on the other hand, was barreling forward, heading straight for the three men with guns.

"STOP!" The dark-haired man shouted, pointing his gun at Cas and Emmy. "DON'T MOVE!"

Emmy froze just a few steps behind Dean. However, Castiel kept on, only stopping when Dean grabbed him. 

"Cas, don't," Dean said sternly.

Castiel begrudgingly halted his advance just as the engine of an approaching car and the soft sounds of jazz music filled the air around them.

All eyes turned with deep perplexity to the newcomer who parked their car in the middle of the road. However, Emmeline's stomach twisted into knots at the black Bentley and the man behind the wheel. How the hell did he even know they were there?!

The car engine shut off and out stepped Arthur Ketch, hefting up a grenade launcher that he promptly aimed at the back of the SUV.

Realizing what was about to happen, everyone scattered, getting as far away from the vehicle as they could manage—except for Castiel, who stood staring at Ketch with curiosity. Dean's arm was wound around Emmy's waist in the blink of an eye as he dragged her and Sam behind the Impala. She let the elder Winchester wrap his body around her when they dropped to the ground, covering her ears just as the loud fiery explosion shook the ground around them.

When the three humans emerged from their hiding place they found all three suited men on the ground, two of them unconscious. Glass and debris littered the ground while flames devoured the inside of the SUV. Each of their gazes fell on Ketch while he sauntered up to them, kicking pieces of metal out of his way as he did.

"You. Angel," Ketch called. "Wipe their memories."

Cas regarded Ketch suspiciously, Sam and Dean hurrying to flank the angel. Emmy carefully placed herself beside Dean, watching every move the British Man of Letters made.

Ketch halted his steps to kick the suited man that had done all the talking in the face, knocking him unconscious. He chuckled softly, looking over to the burning vehicle.

"U.S. government plates. Elite dogcatcher level," Ketch stated and turned to the quartet. "Someone special wants you. Whose hydrant have you mates been tinkling on?"

"I'm sorry. Who the hell are you?!" Dean demanded.

"Oh. Where  _ are _ my manners? Arthur Ketch. British Men of Letters. Emmeline and I have met before."

Emmy narrowed a glare at the Brit, feeling The Winchesters' and Castiel's shocked gazes on her.

"Yeah," she growled. "And he's a fucking douche."

"Now, now, Emmeline," Ketch cooed, a condescending smirk crossing his lips. "No need for the foul language. It's very unbecoming of a lady. I'm simply here to chat," he paused to hold up the grenade launcher. "And to offer our assistance."

"Go to hell!" Emmy fumed.

"You heard her," Dean added.

"I'm simply asking for five minutes of your time while I help remove this unsavory situation from your lives," Ketch stated.

"Fine!" Sam interjected before Dean or Emmy could speak. "Five minutes."

* * *

Night had fallen by the time any evidence of the hunters and angel's presence had been cleared from the road, leaving the three Secret Service men with their memories wiped and unconscious on the ground. The Winchesters, along with Emmy and Castiel, followed the British Man of Letters in the Impala to a secluded spot in the woods where they could talk freely. Ketch stood in front of his trunk, bathed by the light of the Impala's headlights, looking on the group of hunters with a smile that made Emmy's skin crawl.

"So it's all very simple, really," Ketch started. "Mick Davies asked you to join our effort, which we're taking internationally. My instructions are to strongly encourage a yes."

Castiel's brow furrowed, critiquing the man's words before him "So, what? You've just been following us?"

Ketch's mood suddenly shifted, a heavy sense of offense mixed with annoyance in his tone. "Not at all. We're good dogs. We only come when called."

Dean's eyes immediately cut to Emmy, a glare leveling in her direction.

"I didn't call him," Emmy said sternly. "I wouldn't call  _ him _ ."

Confusion settled into Dean's face as well as Castiel's, and Emmy noted the sudden look of guilt in Sam's features.

"He called," Ketch revealed, gesturing to the younger Winchester.

A ripple of disbelief fused into the other two hunters and the angel. Emmy couldn't help but feel like she had been slapped. After all the grief she received about calling Mick for help,  _ Sam _ contacted the British Men of Letters?!

"You what?!" Dean demanded.

"I-I didn't," Sam stuttered nervously. "Uh...I hung up."

"Yes, you did," Ketch said, almost listlessly. "Which made Mr. Davies think that you were in trouble, which you were. So he rings me. Bing, bang, boom. Meet Bob. He's your uncle." He paused to rake his gaze over the quartet. "Oh, and, um, you're welcome. Hmm?"

"And why should we believe anything that you have to say?" Dean asked, obvious annoyance slipping into his words. Emmy knew he was already half checked out of the conversation.

Chuckling, Ketch looked over to Castiel. "You, Halo. Do you sense I'm lying?"

A deadly glare from the angel settled on the Man of Letters. "My name is Castiel," he stated firmly. "And…No. But the truth can be situational."

"Oh," Ketch laughed. "Oh, I do enjoy an angel. But I do understand your hesitation. You haven't exactly seen us at our best. Lady Bevell is a bit...excitable."

"She tried to kill us!" Dean spat

"Like I said," Ketch's annoyed gaze rolled to Dean. "Excitable."

"And you're better?" Sam scoffed.

"Not by much," Emmy muttered, earning her a glare from the Brit.

"I don't care about you one way or the other," Ketch said, ignoring Emmy's jab. "I'm not an ideologue."

"And all you want to do is help these American hunters to clear this country of monsters?" Castiel asked, the skepticism in his voice thick enough to taste.

"We understand things are different here," Ketch said, clearly holding back his frustrations with the people in front of him. "We're eager to collaborate. The British Men of Letters are centuries old, mates. We can offer expertise, weaponry, skills."

"Like we saw out on the road?" Sam asked.

That skin-crawling grin reformed over the British Man of Letters' lips. "I'm an artist, Mr. Winchester. I paint in many colors."

Ketch raised his hand that was holding on to the key fob for his car and pressed a button, opening the trunk behind him. The hunters and the angel discreetly peered inside, hesitant to get too close.

"Was that a grenade launcher?" Dean asked, motioning back in the direction they had come from.

"Quite," Ketch confirmed, his smile growing.

Sam quickly held up a hand to silence his brother before he spoke again.

"Our engineers have spent years blending sorcery and technology," Ketch started to explain, reaching into the trunk to unlatch a black case.

When the lid opened completely, they could see what Emmy assumed was a gun that looked like a metal funnel attached to a small CO2 canister and a trigger. There was also a large golden egg-shaped object with runes carved all around. Carefully, the hunters and the angel stepped up to the trunk for a closer look. 

"For instance, we don't always decapitate vampires," Ketch continued, grabbing the gun-like object and holding it up for display. "Inefficient, really, especially for large nests. We irradiate them, reorder their DNA. Their own blood becomes lethal to them."

The hunters' mouths nearly fell to the ground.

"Whoa!" Emmy exclaimed.

"Cool!" Sam said, agreeing with her sentiment as a small smile crept onto his lips.

"Mmm. The toys  _ are _ the fun part, hmm?" Ketch said with a hint of excitement. He replaced the vampire gun and picked up the egg-shaped object. He exhaled deeply, looking at the item as if it were a gift from God himself. "Hyperbolic Pulse Generator." The British man's gaze drifted back to his audience. "Exorcisms are unreliable. This device emits a force which drives the possessing demon from the vessel."

A glimmer of cautious hope rolled through the hunters and the angel. Could this possibly be exactly what they needed?

"What about a, uh, possessing angel?" Sam asked carefully.

Ketch's features drenched with curiosity, regarding the group in front of him. "And what might you mates be working on?"

"Well," Dean said, stepping forward. "You want us to trust you, you're gonna have to trust us first."

"And that means?" Ketch asked slowly.

"Let us borrow the egg," Dean said. "We'll return it when we're done."

"Fair enough," Ketch said without hesitation, turning back to his trunk to place the Hyperbolic Pulse Generator in a grey cloth bag.

"Really?" Sam asked. "Just like that?"

Ketch turned with a smile, handing the younger Winchester the bag in his hand that now contained the Hyperbolic Pulse Generator. "We don't mind sharing our technologies and resources. In fact, we prefer it." His gaze shifted to Emmy. "We  _ gave _ Emmeline one of the best flamethrowers on the market."

"Yeah," Emmy confirmed. "They know that. So, how does this thing work?"

"Come with me, Emmeline," Ketch said. "I'll write down the instructions for you."

Emmy glanced at Sam and Dean, and once they nodded, she followed Ketch to the driver's side of his car. The Winchesters and Castiel moved to the back of the Impala to place their new weapon with the hidden arsenal inside the trunk.

"I was rather surprised that it wasn't you who called Mr. Davies," Ketch said conversationally, opening his car door and reaching inside to pull out a pad of paper and pen. "The two of you seemed to be...quite close."

"I really don't think that's any of your business," Emmy replied.

Ketch chuckled softly, placing the paper on top of his car and beginning to write. "Maybe. However, it  _ is  _ my business that you didn't quite tell me everything the last time we spoke."

"I told you everything I could."

Ketch paused his task to look over to her. "I would think you would want this demon disposed of, considering he worked for the hellspawn that killed your parents."

"I do," Emmy said, folding her arms over her chest. "And it's being taken care of."

"Really?" Ketch inquired. "Is that what is going on here?"

"No, it's called multitasking."

The British Man of Letters pursed his lips, turning back to finish writing the instructions. "Would you happen to know Raz Bennett's whereabouts? I would like a chat with the lad."

"Nope."

It took everything Emmy had to keep herself from grinning when Ketch's jaw clenched in agitation toward her.

"I suppose it is a good thing the budding  _ friendship _ between you and Mick died before it even started," he said, steering the conversation in an unexpected direction.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. She understood why when it came to the Winchesters, but why was  _ he _ saying it. Didn't they want the American hunters to join them.

"Why?" Emmy asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"Oh," Ketch said, not looking up from his task while a nonchalant air entered his voice. "Just the bloody politics really. Mr. Davies is leading the operations in this country and he has quite a high rank within our organization. The elders would never approve of him having a personal relationship with a  _ hunter.  _ Just the way things operate I'm afraid."

It would have been a lie to say his words didn't sting, but it didn't matter. She had already accepted that Mick would forever be one of the biggest "what ifs" in her life.

"Well," she started, keeping her voice level. "Then I guess it's a good thing we didn't have a personal relationship."

"Quite," Ketch replied shortly, placing his pen in his pocket and tearing the sheet of paper he had written on from the pad. "Here is everything you need to know."

Emmy accepted the written instructions, folding them and placing them in her pocket after looking it all over. "Thank you. One of us will call when we're done to return it to you."

"I look forward to it."

* * *

The British Men of Letters compound in Kansas was quiet. Mick had most of his team on their own separate assignments, and the ones that weren't had made their way to their private quarters or to the nearby hotel for some much needed rest. Mick, however, was pouring through files of American hunters, reading reports from his operatives about their various assignment completions, and relaying information back to the home office in England.

His desk inside the briefing room was covered in organized piles that he worked through methodically, so much so that the sudden shrill ring from the corded phone in the corner of his desk shattering through the silence made him jerk slightly. He cursed under his breath, his eyes falling back to the report in front of him while he reached over to put the device on speaker without even looking at the number across the screen.

"This is Mick Davies," he said, his voice monotone.

"Hiya, Mr. Davies," a familiar male voice said cheerily through the speaker.

The Man of Letters' eyes snapped over to the phone, curiosity dancing across his features. "Raz Bennett? How did you get this number?" 

The particular phone that Mick was speaking to the hunter on was one reserved specifically for communication between members of the British Men of Letters.

"You have your connections and I have mine," Raz said. There was a hint of a smirk in the man's voice that had Mick's own lips twitching upwards in an involuntary grin of admiration.

"What can I do for you, Raz?" Mick asked. "Decided to accept our offer?"

"Not quite," Raz chuckled. "But I could use a small amount of help. Just some information really."

"Always happy to offer our services, mate."

"Have you ever heard of The Divvona Blade?" Raz inquired.

"Yes, actually," Mick replied, a hint of surprise in his voice. "It was said to have been forged by witches with glyphs from an archaic form of Celtic. Ogham Chraobh. Legend says it could kill any angel or demon, excluding archangels."

"I'm impressed, Mick," Raz said. "Not many people have heard of it."

"There isn't a lot we haven't heard of," Mick told him. "But the blade was destroyed nearly a century ago. It makes me wonder why you are interested in it."

"The blade wasn't destroyed."

"And you know this how?"

"We'll just call it personal experience," Raz said. "Do you know the effects the blade has on a human?"

Mick visibly cringed, remembering images from a lore book he had read in school of what the blade could do to the unfortunate human stabbed with it. "It isn't pretty. From what I've read not even angels can heal the wound. It requires a very rare antidote to counteract the poison that is put into the bloodstream by the magic inscribed on the blade ."

"That's mostly correct," Raz confirmed. "An angel can heal the wound if they get there in time. There's a catch though: While the angel can negate the poison and keep the person from basically melting, the wound itself resurfaces after a certain amount of time. So, they need to be repeatedly healed."

Mick’s jaw worked up and down as he stared at the phone. The newfound information had taken him off guard. "How do you know this?"

"I don't think we're nearly close enough to share that information, Mick," Raz told him. 

"Raz—"

"Can you find out a location for that rare antidote or someone that can make it?" Raz cut it, not allowing Mick to push the issue.

"Are you hurt?" Mick asked. "If you are, I can send someone. Hell, I’ll come to you myself. We can figure this out together, mate."

"I appreciate the concern," Raz said genuinely. "But I'm not hurt. I know someone who has been though. They are currently fine, but if you can get your hands on that information… Well, you might just have a new member of The Men of Letters."

"Raz," Mick said slowly. "That antidote...it's going to take some time to hunt down."

Mick heard the other man sigh, an action that he could hear guilt and regret radiating from.

"But we'll find a way," Mick continued.

"I hope so; and one other thing."

"Yes?"

"Leave the Djall case alone," Raz said, a definite warning in his voice. "I don't need your attack dog messing with my investigation and getting me or someone I care about killed. I've got this covered."

"We could help you," Mick tried to offer.

"If I need it, I'll call," Raz told him. "Until then, back off."

The call ended abruptly after that, leaving Mick staring at his phone while a dial tone pierced the air. 

* * *

"So you're going to pop Lucifer out of the President with  _ that _ ?!" Crowley asked in disbelief, watching Dean pull the Hyperbolic Pulse Generator from its gray cloth bag.

The King of Hell and Rowena had met the Winchesters, Emmy and Castiel at a small motel not far from the estate Lucifer was staying at while he paraded around as the President. Rowena and Emmy looked up from their spot standing next to the table where the witch had set up the components for her spell with Castiel close by. Rowena watched Dean turn the egg-shaped weapon over in his hand with curiosity swimming in her eyes.

"I hope so," Dean admitted, his eyes locked on the golden object in his hand. "Otherwise, we're all dead." He paused to look up and address the group. "Then Rowena zaps him back to the cage. Of course, we gotta get him here first."

"Yeah," Sam interjected. "We need to get a hold of this, uh, secret girlfriend Crowley found out about. This...Kelly. Of course, she's in that mansion with the President, which is guarded like a fortress. Only one of us has a chance of getting in there."

Every eye in the room was suddenly focused on the King of Hell. Crowley’s gaze raked around the room, his eyes rolling at their expectant faces.

"Bollocks," he grumbled and blinked out of sight.

* * *

Kelly Kline sat on the edge of the bed in the motel room with the hunters, demon king, witch, and angel crowded around her, clutching a glass of water in her hand. Emmy could see the fear and disbelief in the woman's features. They had just dumped an unimaginable amount of information on the woman, more than anyone should have to deal with, let alone be forced to believe.

"No," Kelly said, her voice cracking while she stared at the floor. "No, you're making it all up. It's impossible."

"Well, to be fair," Dean started. "So is teleporting. But...ta-da!"

Sam and Emmy both glared daggers in the elder Winchester's direction.

"Dean!" Emmy hissed in warning, to which he simply shrugged.

"Who are you people?" Kelly asked, looking around desperately at the group surrounding her.

"Well, dear," Rowena chimed in, pointing to herself. "I'm a witch." Her gesture moved to Castiel. "He's an angel."

Castiel simply nodded.

"And I'm the King of Hell," Crowley added, raising his hand from where he leaned against the wall near the doorway to the other room.

"Oh, God!" Kelly exclaimed.

"No, actually, he left," Castiel told her.

"Cas!" Emmy hissed again.

"OK, guys, not helping," Sam finally spoke up, raising a hand to silence the others.

"You...you can't. He's the President!" Kelly tried to reason, her eyes darting around the room, no doubt looking for an escape route.

"He was," Sam started and Kelly's gaze snapped to him. "But now...Tell me he hasn't been acting different."

"Jeff's been under a lot of stress," she argued. "He…"

"Wrong," Crowley butted in. "He's the Devil. Horns, pitchfork, the whole nine."

Sam turned a deadly glare to the King of Hell "Crowley, still not helping!"

The demon king rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he walked away into the other room.

"Listen," Sam said gently, turning back to Kelly. "We know what we're talking about here. We have been on Lucifer's trail for a long time."

"And we know you're pregnant with  _ his _ child," Rowena added.

"That's…" Kelly whispered, a hint of unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "That's...you're lying."

"We aren't, Kelly," Emmy said carefully, watching Castiel as the angel walked over to the bedside table and opened the drawer to pull out a Bible.

"The thing inside you, it's unholy," Castiel stated, moving to stand in front of Kelly and holding the Bible out to her. "It's an abomination."

"That's not…" Kelly tried to refute.

"Place your hand here," Castiel instructed, nodding his head towards the holy book in his hand.

Kelly looked back and forth between the Bible and the angel for a moment before she hesitantly placed her hand where Castiel had instructed. The woman's eyes went as round as saucers when the book started to sizzle beneath her touch. She gasped loudly, jerking her hand away right before the Bible caught fire. Kelly's mouth opened and closed, trying to compute what had just happened while she watched Dean grab a metal trash can and a pitcher of water. Castiel dumped the holy book into the receptacle and the elder Winchester poured the water in to douse the flames.

"No," Kelly whispered. "Oh, no."

"Does he even know you're knocked up?" Dean asked, placing the can back on the ground and walking over to her.

"Yes, he…" Kelly started, pausing to clear her throat. "He said he was thrilled. He said it was the only time he ever created anything."

The hunters and the angel shared a glance, and Emmy could feel the dread that passed between them.

"Kelly," Sam said, kneeling in front of the bewildered woman. "We need your help."

From that point, everything seemed to happen in an adrenaline-soaked blur for Emmy. Within minutes of Kelly making the call that would bring Lucifer right to them, Secret Service men were sweeping the room. After some angelic intervention, they pronounced the room clear. Then Lucifer was in the room, attacking Kelly because she said she couldn't have the baby. Dean burst in from behind the door to where Rowena and Emmy prepared to start the spell and Sam bounded out of the bathroom holding out the Hyperbolic Pulse Generator, reciting an incantation. Rowena quickly began the spell to send Lucifer back to the cage with Emmy assisting, finishing just as the archangel was forced from the President's body.

They did it! They really did it! Lucifer was locked away again!

Emmy sucked in a sharp breath, watching Jefferson Rooney fall to the floor unconscious and barely registering Crowley and Rowena's departure. She only released the breath in a rush of relief when Castiel announced that the President was alive.

Emmy rushed to Sam's side, Castiel to Kelly's. The younger Winchester put the Hyperbolic Pulse Generator into Emmy's hands.

"You know what to do," Sam said, looking directly into her eyes. Emmy nodded and Sam turned to Cas. "Get her out of here!"

They knew what they were supposed to do—the plan had been meticulously laid out before Kelly had called Lucifer. They had followed it to the letter for once, and Emmy and Castiel continued with their parts. Together they escorted Kelly to the exit in the other room, running out and around the building just as the Secret Service descended on the room Sam and Dean were still in.

None of them even considering for a moment that the brothers hadn't made their escape as they had planned.

* * *

Emmy smiled to herself, sitting on the Impala's hood with the Hyperbolic Pulse Generator wrapped up in her jacket on her lap. Even the fact that she was currently waiting on Arthur Ketch in the same spot they had spoken the night before couldn't dampen her mood.

They had locked Lucifer away; one of their biggest nightmares was over, the President was alive, and the nephilim situation was being dealt with. There may have been many more storm clouds on the proverbial horizon, but for the moment, the sun was beautiful. They could worry about the rest tomorrow.

Minutes passed before she spotted Ketch driving up to her and her smile never faded when she jumped down from the hood to greet the British Man of Letters.

"I take it things went well?" Ketch asked, getting out of his car and approaching her.

"Maybe," Emmy replied.

"And where are the Winchester lads and the angel?"

"Busy," Emmy said, unwrapping the egg-shaped weapon and holding it out to him. "Thanks for the loan."

"Happy to be of service," Ketch said slowly, studying her closely.

Emmy's grin widened at the man's obvious perplexity with her. However, she didn't give him time to respond before she turned and started walking back to the Impala. She had to pick up Sam and Dean from their designated spot so they could meet Castiel.

"Should I give Mr. Davies your regards?" Ketch asked, effectively halting the pep in Emmy's steps.

She whirled around, meeting Ketch's self-satisfied grin. It was apparent he knew he had struck a nerve, but Emmy wouldn't give him the satisfaction of confirming it. 

"Sure," she said, flashing a bright smile on her face. Then, without another word, she got behind the wheel of the Impala.

The vehicle’s engine hummed as she navigated it back onto the road. However, the calming sound was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone sitting beside her on the leather seat. She glanced down to find Castiel's name across the screen and she grabbed it to answer.

"Hey, Cas," she said. "What's up?"

"Emmy…" Castiel's voice was deeper than usual, wrapped in what Emmy could only describe as a combination of guilt and fear.

"Cas, what's wrong?!" Emmy exclaimed, anxiety gripping like a vice at her chest.

"Sam and Dean are gone." 


	5. Chapter 5

Sam and Dean were gone—arrested more than likely, but Emmy couldn't seem to find a trace of them in any arrest reports nationwide. Castiel had made a call to Mary, telling her to meet him and Emmy at the bunker. She didn't take the news well, glaring at the angel and the huntress across the map table in the war room.

"You left them?!" Mary half-shouted.

"No, we…" Castiel stuttered. "Dean told us to go. The woman—"

"The one you lost?!" Mary cut in.

"I didn't. I...I thought that she…"

"Stop making excuses!"

"That's enough!" Emmy shouted, her eyes narrowing on Mary. "Stop acting like we deserted them! We had a plan and we were following through with it! Sam and Dean were supposed to duck out the bathroom window before the Secret Service got there!" 

Mary sighed heavily, her anger draining away. "Why… If they needed help, why didn't they call me?"

"You were out," Cas said matter of factly.

"How did we let this happen?" Mary asked, shaking her head as she looked around aimlessly.

"I'm sorry,  _ we _ ?" Emmy asked, stepping around the table and closer to Mary.

"Emmy! Don't!" Castiel warned, grabbing Emmy gently by the arm.

"No!" Emmy spat, her gaze meeting Mary's. "You've been off doing God knows what while we've been hunting down and fighting goddamn  _ Lucifer _ ! You made it clear that you wanted your damn space! Cas and I have been the ones who've been here! Not you!"

Emmy jerked out of Castiel's hold and headed straight for the threshold to the library.

"Where are you going?!" Castiel called after her.

"To find Sam and Dean!"

* * *

"Behind you, Shortcake!" Raz shouted, swinging his machete through the air and slicing through the vampire in front of him.

Emmy spun on her heel, bringing her own machete up with enough force to free the vamp in front of her of his head, then bringing the weapon down at an angle to lob off the head of another bloodsucker that had tried to grab her from behind.

"Well that was therapeutic," Emmy said, looking around at the five decapitated vampires lying on the ground around her and her friend.

"I'll say!" Raz agreed. "We've been in that damn car of yours way too long."

For the past two weeks since the night at the bunker, Emmy and Raz had been searching for Sam and Dean. A few possibilities had sent them up into Iowa and Wisconsin. When those fell flat they dropped in on Donna in Minnesota to see if she had heard anything, and then over into South Dakota to touch base with Jody. Both sheriffs had extended their own connections as far as they could. Unfortunately, there still wasn't a trace of Sam and Dean anywhere.

Eventually, the duo had caught wind of a small vamp nest in Arkansas and made their way to handle the situation. They desperately needed the distraction, as well as the chance to punch out some of their frustrations. But now, with all the bloodsuckers lying lifeless on the broken pavement, their reality was starting to set in again. 

Emmy sighed and Raz threw his arm around her shoulders, leading them back to her car. "We're gonna find 'em, Shortcake," he said and kissed the top of her head.

A single nod was the only response she could manage.

They walked in silence back to Emmy's Mustang, getting in and speeding away from the scene as fast as the classic Ford's wheels would carry them.

"Have you heard from Cas?" Raz asked once Emmy had pulled onto the interstate, headed towards Oklahoma. "Or talked to Mary?"

"Cas is hunting down Crowley," Emmy said, staring ahead at the road with both hands on the steering wheel. "I haven't talked to Mary, but Cas said she's staying at the bunker."

"Is that why we avoided it like the plague on our way to Arkansas?"

"Maybe," Emmy said, blowing a puff of air through her lips. "I said some things I shouldn't have when we told her about Sam and Dean."

"You should call her."

"I'll think about it," Emmy said. "I've got a contact in Texas I want to check in on first."

* * *

Mick's vision was starting to blur together and he couldn't remember how long he had felt the dull headache. Nevertheless, he persisted. Raz's request had sent him down a formidable rabbit hole of information, most of which had had to be translated from one ancient language or the other. However, he had discovered information on the Divvona Blade that he hadn't known existed. He had even managed to begin to piece together a loose timeline of the weapon's movement through the years until it was supposedly destroyed nearly a century ago.

He had hit a roadblock then: The British Men of Letters’ information seemed to stop cold on the subject at that point in time. Which would have been fine, except they also only had half of the steps and ingredients needed for the antidote. He had never encountered anything the Men of Letters didn't already have or couldn't get with one phone call, and it took every bit of his restraint to not question why the lore and other literature on this specific item just stopped at a certain date.

Mick growled in frustration, scrubbing his hands down his face and leaning back in his chair. A puff of air blew from his lips as he tried to focus his tired eyes on his desk’s computer screen. He was going to have to hunt down some other source of information if he was going to be able to help Raz.

"Mick?"

He looked up at the sound of his name to find Serana standing in front of his desk. He hadn't even heard her come in.

"Yes?" Mick asked.

"That small nest of vamps that fled to Arkansas has been dealt with," she told him. "All five are dead."

"Good," Mick responded with a smile. At least something was going right. "Tell Ketch good work."

"It wasn't Ketch."

Mick's brow furrowed in confusion. "Then who was it?"

"From the footage I found of the local police department, it was Emmeline Turner and Raz Bennett," Serena explained and Mick's stomach twisted at the mention of Emmy's name.

He had done well with staying busy to keep her off his mind, but there were still times she slipped in. The memory of their brief kiss flashed through his mind. The sweet taste of her lips, how her body fit perfectly against his. He could still hear the small contented sigh that escaped her before she melted into him and wrapped her arms around his neck, then the proverbial slap in the face when she jerked away and left. He had tried to talk to her, texting and calling multiple times, but after a while he got the hint. He had thought the connection he felt with her was mutual, but clearly he was wrong.

"Mick?" Serena asked, shattering through his thoughts. "Did you hear me?"

He blinked at her for a moment. No, he absolutely had not heard her and his sleep-deprived brain had no idea how to recover from that. Thankfully, Serena seemed to understand and a small smile fell on her lips.

"Would you like me to reach out to them to verify my information?" she asked, more than likely for the second time.

"No," Mick said. "That won't be necessary. If they were in town and there were vampires, they took care of them. I'll just add it to my report. Thank you for checking in though."

Serena nodded and turned to leave, pausing at the threshold and turning back to Mick. "Are you still working on the Divvona Blade for Raz?"

"I am," Mick confirmed. "Hit a bit of a snag though."

Serena pursed her lips and Mick got the feeling she wasn't sure if she should be divulging the information she was about to. "I ran across the name of a retired British Man of Letters that lives in South Dakota. Maybe he could shed some light on what has you stuck? I could get his information for you."

Mick suddenly felt a small glimmer of hope start to grow in his chest, but why did this retired member move to the states? It was almost unheard of for members to go too far from England. Well, he was going to find out. "That would be greatly appreciated, Serena. Thank you."

* * *

Thirty days.

Sam and Dean had been gone for thirty days.

Where the fuck were they?!

Emmy stood at the gas pump in Nebraska, her hand on the nozzle to fill up her Mustang's tank and her mind in more places than she could count. Between the two of them, Raz and Emmy had exhausted every contact they had ever known, and come up with nothing every time. The only one they hadn't contacted was the British Men of Letters and they didn't need to talk about it to know why that wasn't going to happen.

A sigh escaped her lips and she leaned her body against the trunk, still keeping a loose grip on the gas pump pushing fuel into her car. The thought of the foreign organization brought unwanted thoughts screaming back to the front of her mind. She could still see Mick's pale green sapphire eyes sparkling when he gave that smile that used to make butterflies flutter in her stomach. Now, it just hurt. She missed him terribly and she didn't even know why. It wasn't like they had spent that much time together and he only kissed her once. But...that one night at the restaurant had felt...right, and she had been more than excited about their night that had got interrupted by a curse and then destroyed when she ran out on him. She didn't even dare dwell on his kiss, even if she had dreamt about doing it again once or twice.

The loud click of the pump in her hand that indicated her tank was full had her jumping in surprise. She grumbled to herself and replaced the nozzle, turning around to find Raz gazing at her with a raised brow from where he stood on the passenger's side of the car.

"Whatcha thinking 'bout?" he asked.

"Sam and Dean," Emmy said a little too quickly.

"Yeah, OK," Raz said, rolling his eyes. "I'm only letting that one go because you really aren't going to like what I'm about to say."

Her eyes narrowed in a pointed look at her friend while she replaced the gas cap on her car and moved to get in on the driver's side. Raz followed suit on his side and Emmy waited for him to shut the door before she spoke again.

"What?" she asked, her head turning to look at him.

"You need to go see Mary."

"What?!"

"I have a lead I need to follow on Djall and it isn't safe for you…" Raz said, hesitant on what else he had to say. 

"Bullshit," Emmy said.

Raz sighed heavily. "I'm meeting Mick to go see a retired British Man of Letters."

The drop of information hit Emmy like a punch to her gut. Pursing her lips, she turned to start the car. There were tears pricking at the corners of her eyes when she pulled on to the main road and she hated herself for it.

"Since when are you working with them?" she finally asked.

"I'm not," Raz said. "Mick is helping me locate the antidote for the Divvona Blade."

"Did you tell him?!" Emmy exclaimed, her head snapping in the reaper's direction.

"No!" Raz said defensively. "You know I would never do that! All he knows is that I have a friend that needs help and he's kept Ketch out of my hair. But I didn't think you wanted him to associate you with this one. He believes the blade and Djall are still two unrelated incidents."

"He's not stupid, Raz," Emmy sighed. "He's going to figure it out. What if he figures out you're an angel? Or worse, an en ex reaper? You aren't exactly as powered up as you used to be, and reapers aren't exactly known to be walking around and interacting with everyday life! I mean, I don't think  _ Mick  _ would take advantage of that, but the people he works for…"

"Will you calm down?" Raz asked. "I'll be careful. I  _ am _ careful! We are simply just going to talk to some dude about possibly finding you an antidote. Nothing more."

"Why are you even going? Can't he do this on his own?"

"He asked if I wanted to go. I said yes."

"When?!" Emmy demanded, her eyes cutting to him for a moment.

"Uh…" Raz got visibly nervous and uncomfortable. "He called while I was inside the gas station."

She inhaled sharply, gripping her steering wheel tighter. "When did you even bring this up to him?"

"Before Sam and Dean went missing."

"Dammit, Raz!" Emmy growled. "Why are you just telling me now?!"

"We've been kinda busy with trying to find Sam, Dean, and Djall, and all Mick is doing is finding me information!" Raz said. "And right now, he's the only one making any progress!"

There was a pregnant pause between them for a moment; Emmy could feel the unspoken words that Raz wanted to say and she would be lying if it hadn't entered her mind more than a few times.

"Sam and Dean would rather rot than bring them in on finding them," Emmy said.

Raz huffed, leaning back in his seat. "They might be able to help, Shortcake."

"No."

"But—"

"Raz! No!" Emmy insisted. "Promise me you won't bring them up!"

"As long as you promise to go check on Mary."

Emmy exhaled loudly and pressed her foot down harder on the accelerator. "Deal."

* * *

The bunker felt empty and quiet when Emmy entered from the garage. The Winchester brothers’ absence hitting her harder than it had since she and Cas had discovered they had been taken. 

"Mary?" Emmy called, walking through the corridors. "It's Emmy."

She was met with silence.

A huff escaped her lips as she entered the kitchen, finding John Winchester's journal open on the table. Where the hell was Mary? Emmy turned to walk out of the kitchen and headed for the hallway where the bunker sleeping quarters were located. Turning the corner, she saw Mary coming out of Dean's bedroom carrying one of his cell phones.

"Emmy?" Mary asked, surprise written all over her face. "What are you doing here?"

Emmy fidgeted uncomfortably; she owed the woman an apology for the things she said a month ago. "I...uh...I just wanted to check on you and... apologize. We all lost Sam and Dean and…"

"I'm sorry, too," Mary said, her posture visibly relaxing. "I was angry—at the situation, myself, and I took it out on you and Cas."

"Likewise," Emmy said, letting her body lean against the cement wall. She was surprised when she felt tears well in her eyes. "I've tried so hard to find them, but…"

Nothing could have prepared her for what happened next, and she didn't realize how much she needed it until it happened. Mary wordlessly crossed over to her and pulled her into a tight hug, and Emmy lost it. She sobbed into the older woman's shoulder unabashedly, letting out all the pent up regret, guilt, and anger that had been building up over the past month. Mary silently held her through it all, gently running her fingers through her hair.

"Feel better?" Mary asked comfortingly after Emmy had started to calm down.

Emmy simply nodded into Mary's shoulder.

"Good," Mary said and moved to take Emmy's face in her hands, tilting the younger woman's head to look at her. "We're going to find our boys. There isn't a doubt in my mind."

Emmy nodded again, this time pulling away to wipe her eyes.

"Until then," Mary continued. "We have a job to do and people to save."

"You have a case?" Emmy asked curiously.

She knew that Mary had grown up a hunter and that she could more than hold her own on a hunt, but she had never considered working with her.

"Alicia Banes called," Mary stated.

"The girl Sam and Dean met at that hunter's wake?"

"Yes," Mary confirmed. "She and her brother were hunting a werewolf in Louisiana. Well, turns out it's a huge pack and they need help. I'm going to help them. You want in?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Emmy said without hesitation.

"Good, I'll drive."

Laughter bubbled from Emmy's chest, the first real smile she’d had since Sam and Dean were taken. "Wow, you definitely are Dean's mom."

The bright smile that encompassed Mary's face lightened Emmy's heart and she was glad Raz had made her come see the woman.

"Thank you," Mary said. "Now let's get moving."

* * *

The reservations Mick had about what he was doing were running rampant. The elders hadn't denied his request to speak with Walter Stanhope—the retired British Man of Letters—but it had taken them two weeks to review his request and he had to sit through more than two hours of questioning on why he wanted to go. The old men eventually agreed, but Mick just couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he should just let the man be.

Unfortunately, there was no turning back now. He was already pulling into a local grocery store parking lot in a small South Dakota town and could see Raz parked in the back and sitting on the open tailgate of his truck with his phone to his ear. Mick's heart sank a little when he realized Raz was by himself; he had been silently hoping Emmy would have been with him.

The expression on the reaper’s face looked somewhat concerned with a hint of agitation when Mick exited his car, and he lifted his brow in question at the other man as he walked around to him. Raz held up a finger, indicating for Mick to hold a minute while mouthing the word "sorry."

"Do you really think this is a good idea, Shortcake?" Raz asked into his phone. "I didn't get the impression you two got along very well. Not to mention that's a lot of wolves to take on with people you've never worked with before."

Raz rolled his eyes up to the sky, silently muttering to himself while the other person spoke.

"OK! OK!" Raz said. "Just be careful and call me when you're done."

The reaper's eyes quickly shot to Mick and an uncertain look took over Raz's expression that worried the Man of Letters.

"Yeah," Raz said, his tone cautious. "He just got out of his car… You got it, Shortcake. Talk to you soon." He disconnected the call, smiling at Mick as he placed it in his back pocket. "Sorry about that. Emmy has decided to go take out a werewolf pack with Mary Winchester and two other hunters."

Mick quickly shoved down the sting of hearing Emmy's name, keeping his face neutral. "Do they need backup?"

"The wolves might," Raz laughed. "I'm more worried about Emmy and Mary being at each other's throats and working with people they've never hunted with before."

"I could make a call—"

"Are you  _ trying _ to get my ass fried?" Raz joked. "I'm already in hot water for not bringing her with me."

"Why didn't you?"

A cheeky grin split Raz's face and Mick instantly regretted pushing the issue.

"Why do you want to know?" Raz asked. "You miss her?"

"Uh...uh..." Mick could actually feel his brain short-circuit, trying to backpedal out of the hole he had stepped into. Unfortunately, now his mouth didn't seem to want to work either.

Raz laughed loudly, jumping to his feet and closing the tailgate of his truck. "We should get going," he said, walking to the passenger's side of Mick's car. "We've still got what, another three hours’ worth of drive time to get to this dude?"

"Uh..yes," Mick stuttered, quickly moving to the other side of the car. "We should go."

* * *

The drive to Walter Stanhope's small house in the far northern part of South Dakota had for the most part been quiet between Mick and Raz. The reaper had spent a majority of the time memorizing every inch of their trek in case he needed it later and he assumed Mick was just happy he wasn't bringing up his blunder in the parking lot three hours ago. Raz could tell the man's mind was running in overdrive and there was a hint of uncertainty coming off of him that increased the closer they had gotten to the retired man's house. Raz wasn't exactly sure how to take that, but he was grateful that Mick didn't instantly trust the situation.

"Here we are," Mick said, turning off the engine and looking up at the small beige house with dark brown shutters and matching front door.

It wasn't an expensive home, that much was clear. However, it seemed cozy and comfortable. The yard was covered in a dusting of snow, but the driveway had been cleared neatly and the car parked in front of the garage was a newer model Toyota.

"This dude knows we're coming, right?" Raz asked, his gaze following Mick's. "Emmy told me about you showing up at Jimmy's unannounced and almost getting yourself shot."

Mick turned an exasperated look in Raz's direction. "Do you two tell each other everything?"

"For the most part," Raz said with an ear to ear grin. 

The reaper swallowed the laugh that was threatening to spill from his lips when he caught the slightest hint of a falter from the man to his left, but then something else caught his attention. There was a hint of pain in the British man's eyes that appeared to mix with emotions he wasn't letting himself admit. 

Mick really did miss Emmy. 

"Sorry," Raz said, suddenly feeling like an ass.

"It's fine," Mick said shortly. "And yes, I called."

There was silence between the two on their way to the front door. They shared a glance before Mick knocked and each held their breath until the door swung open.

Raz froze instantly.

He knew the hazel eyes staring back at him. The face had aged and the hair was now a salt and pepper gray, but Raz would know the man anywhere. Except when the reaper had known him sixteen years ago, he went by the name Tucker Miller instead of his new name—Walter Stanhope.

Walter's eyes flicked between the reaper and the British Man of Letters, and Raz discreetly shook his head, begging his long-lost friend to not divulge their connection.

"You must be Mick Davies," Walter said, focusing on Mick. The slight British accent took Raz off-guard; he hadn't had it sixteen years ago.

"Yes," Mick said, a bureaucratic-neutral smile on his face. He turned to Raz. "This is my friend, Raz Bennett. Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Stanhope."

"My pleasure, lads," Walter said, stepping aside to let Mick in, but stopping Raz before he entered the threshold. "Actually,  _ Mr. Bennett _ , could you help me get some wood for the fire? It's getting a bit nippy inside."

"Uh, sure," Raz agreed.

He caught the utterly bewildered look on Mick's face right before Walter closed the door and dragged the reaper around the side of his house by his arm.

"What are you doing with the bloody British Men of Letters?!" Walter demanded, rounding on Raz.

"I could ask you the same damn thing,  _ Walter _ !" Raz exclaimed. "Did you work for these assclowns back then?!"

"Walter is my real name—I was undercover back then. It was my last assignment."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Raz asked.

"To protect you," Walter said. "I was going back to London and lying about  _ everything _ . If they knew what really went on with Desmond and his  _ collection _ , they would have killed all of us. The British Men of Letters don't see shades of gray when it comes to hunting. They don't care if something does or doesn't deserve to be killed. Which is why it just boggles me that you're with one of them."

"I'm not working with them," Raz said. "They showed up a few months ago and started trying to recruit the American hunters. As far as I know, none of them have joined."

"Listen, Raz, I'm not necessarily saying you shouldn't trust them, just be careful  _ who _ you trust," Walter told him. "If their technology and resources have improved even a fraction from when I saw it last, then they really could help things here. But...their code is brutal."

"Their code?"

"Yeah," Walter said. "Mr. Davies in there clearly doesn't remember me, but I remember him. The things they made him do as a boy to prove his loyalty… What it did to him…"

There was a far-off look as memories passed in Walter's eyes, a look which worried Raz. After a moment the man turned back to the reaper.

"When I knew Mick he was a good man," Walter said. "Young...but good. However, they could have smothered that part of him."

"Emmy trusts Mick," Raz told him. "The rest not so much. One of their operatives tried to kill friends of ours. They claim that's not how it was supposed to go down."

"Emmy is in this, too?!'

"Yeah, she's not working with them either," Raz started. "But she and Mick were starting to get close."

Walter sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair. "Just be careful, Raz. Why are you two even here?"

"You don't know?! Mick said he called!"

"He did," Walter confirmed. "But he didn't go into much detail."

Raz took a deep breath and quickly explained to Walter how Emmy had been working on a case and ended up cursed. About how Ketch had found out the demon Djall was back and had paid a hunter to give Emmy the information that sent her to the witches. He told him of how he and Emmy had been looking for Djall at the same time they were looking for their missing friends. Finally, he told Walter of bringing Mick in on trying to locate the antidote for the Divvona Blade.

"Hmm," Walter mused. "Then I take it the British Men of Letters info is still limited on the subject."

"Yeah," Raz nodded. "He pieced together a loose timeline up to when it was supposedly destroyed and he's managed to put together half of the antidote, but he's kind of at a standstill now."

"So, he doesn't know you were the reason it wasn't destroyed?"

"He doesn't even know I'm an angel," Raz said.

"Good," Walter said. "What about Djall?"

"Mick and Ketch have been to see Silcox in Alexandria, but you can imagine how that went."

"Indeed," Walter shook his head. "I’m beginning to think he was the lucky one out of us. Do they know about the people that went missing back then?"

"I think so," Raz said. "But I asked Mick to keep his guys out of this one, and so far he has. At least, as far as I can tell.

Walter let his gaze drift off before he spoke again. "Raz, if Djall is planning to follow in Desmond's footsteps…"

"I know."

* * *

Mick was waiting impatiently inside the house, taking in the details of his surroundings from where he stood in the center of the small living room. Walter's bookshelf in the corner by the door was full of books dressed in covers that hid the titles on their spines. There was art hanging on the walls here and there, but no pictures that indicated anyone else lived in the house but Walter. The large flat-screen TV that was mounted on the wall across from a black leather couch and two matching armchairs was turned off. A small cherrywood coffee table stood in front of the couch, its surface clear of anything. Everything seemed perfectly normal.

So why did he feel like something wasn't fitting correctly?

Unfortunately, he didn't have much more time to think on the matter before Walter and Raz came back through the front door carrying armfuls of firewood.

"Just set that by the door, Mr. Bennett," Walter said. "I'm going to go put this in the stove."

Raz nodded and placed the wood where he was told as Walter exited the room.

"You going to tell me what that was about?" Mick asked once Raz had faced him. 

"Um...getting firewood?" Raz said, his expression feigning an innocence that Mick saw straight through.

Mick opened his mouth to respond, but Walter’s entering the room cut him off. The older man motioned towards his couch as he took a seat in one of the armchairs.

"Please, lads, sit," he offered.

Mick and Raz took seats on opposite ends of the couch, both of them sitting on the edge of a cushion.

"So," Walter started, leveling his gaze at Mick. "Raz filled me in on why you're here while we were outside. What exactly do you think I can tell you that isn't already in the Men of Letters archives?"

"Well," Mick said. "The information we have on the Divvona Blade just seems to abruptly stop after it was supposedly destroyed. Raz says he knows for a fact it's still around because he has a friend that needs the antidote for the poison. If that's the case, then why don't we have any more information on the subject? You know as well as I do that we don't just lose information."

"It could have never existed," Walter suggested.

Something in the man's tone was guarded and Mick couldn't shake the feeling that the ex-Man of Letters wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Listen, mate," Mick said, his tone slipping into a stern territory that he wasn't expecting. "Someone needs help and it's our job to help them."

"Let me ask you something, Mick," Walter said. "Have you ever been ordered to do something that you knew with every fiber of your being was wrong, but you did it thinking you had no choice because the code demands it?"

Mick simply stared at the man to his left, memories of a horrible act involving his childhood best friend, a dagger, and a cold, unfeeling Dr. Hess, screaming into his mind. What he was forced to do in order to stay alive himself haunted him even now.

Walter nodded in understanding. "What if you were told to do it again?"

"I…" Mick stammered. "I would have to, wouldn't I?"

The current British Man of Letters saw the quick flick of Walter's eyes to Raz, but he missed the slight nod of the reapers head, confirming whatever the older man was silently asking him.

"I think you and I are a lot alike, Mick," Walter said, standing and walking over to his bookcase. "You just haven't realized your reason yet."

"My reason for what?"

"You'll know when you find it," Walter chuckled softly, running a finger along the spines of the books on his top shelf. He pulled out a thin black journal with a golden swirl of foil designs along the edges and turned to face the two on his couch. "I have the rest of the ingredients and steps you need for the antidote."

"You do?!" Raz suddenly spoke up, his tone almost accusatory.

Mick found himself looking back and forth between the two men. There was something on the fringe of his instincts that told him there was a lot more going on here than could be seen on the surface. Fighting the urge to question everything that was right in front of him took more effort than he was expecting.

"I do," Walter confirmed, walking over to hand the journal to Mick. "It's all in there. It won't do you much good though."

"Why's that?" Raz asked, anger in his question that almost felt personal.

Walter simply gestured for Mick to open the journal and he did. The list of instructions along with ingredients seemed to pick up right where his half left off. All of it seemed simple enough to execute, the different components only mildly difficult to find. Then he read the last item needed and Mick's heart dropped, his eyes rolling regretfully to Raz.

"We need the heart of a Kelpie," Mick said quietly.

"The Celtic sea monster?!" Raz exclaimed. "They're extinct!"

"Indeed they are," Walter confirmed. "The British Men of Letters killed the very last mated couple about thirty years ago."

"Of course they fucking did," Raz scoffed, standing from the couch and heading straight for the door, slamming it behind him as he exited.

"My apologies," Mick said, getting to his feet and handing Walter back his journal. "I believe the person needing this antidote may be close to him."

Walter nodded, the look on his face expressing that there was more he wanted to say, yet choosing not to.

"Mick," Walter started cautiously. "Can I give you some advice?"

"Uh...sure."

"Listen to your gut instinct," Walter told him. "Because in the end, you're the one that has to live with your decisions."

Mick blinked at the man in perplexity, a question springing from his lips before he had a chance to catch it. "Why did you retire to the States?"

Walter chuckled softly to himself as he walked to the front door, placing his hand on the doorknob and opening it. "I found my reason for waking up in the morning and it opened my eyes."

* * *

The drive back to Raz's truck through the dark roads of South Dakota was quiet once again. Both men stared ahead at the road before them while the trees blurred by on either side. Mick was lost in his own thoughts, Walter's words still ringing in his head. He knew there was so much more that hadn't been said and the Man of Letters surprisingly found himself understanding why the former member had been so tight-lipped and ready to have his guests away from his home. An understanding he knew was dangerous.

"Thank you for trying," Raz finally said when they were less than a mile from their destination. "Don't feel bad for it being a bust. It's not the first time I've hit a brick wall with this."

"There's no need to thank us—"

"I'm not," Raz interrupted. "I'm thanking  _ you _ ."

Mick paused, glancing over at the reaper briefly. "You're welcome."

"And just so you know," Raz started, agitation evident in his tone. "It pisses me off that I have a solid reason to trust your British ass."

It was all Mick could do to stifle the laugh threatening to spill out. "All I did was find you another dead end."

"That's not what I was talking about."

"Then what?"

When Raz didn't answer straight away, Mick glanced over to find a contemplative expression on his face.

"I'm good at reading people's intentions," was the only answer Mick received, and the cryptic response left him more confused than anything.

It didn't take but a few minutes more until Mick parked his car in the space next to Raz's truck. The parking lot was empty now, the grocery store long closed and the employees gone home for the day.

"I'm not going to give up on this," Mick said, looking over as Raz reached for his door handle.

The reaper paused and turned to Mick, an uncertain look on his face, as if he was debating on saying something he knew he shouldn't. The reaper simply nodded and moved to open the car door, pausing once he had one foot on the pavement. He suddenly hung his head, raking a hand over his hair.

"I really shouldn't do this," Raz muttered to himself, but after a moment turned back to Mick. "Do yourself a favor and watch your back with Ketch."

Mick's brow furrowed at Raz's words. "Why?"

"Just…" Raz started, his expression turning aggravated. "Just do it, alright?"

The reaper waited for the Man of Letters to nod before he stood and exited the car, bending down to stick his head back in.

"And one other thing," Raz said, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Emmy misses you, too."

There was no time to respond. Raz shut the car door and immediately got into his truck, driving away and leaving Mick staring at where the classic vehicle had been moments before.

* * *

The splatters of werewolf blood had yet to even dry on their clothes before Mary and Emmy had bid their farewells to Max and Alicia. Each hunter exchanged contact information before they piled in their respective cars and hightailed it to opposite state lines. The pack had been larger than any of the four hunters could have imagined and taking out the pack of thirty wolves hadn't been quiet. It ended with a homemade bomb devised by Emmy that sent pieces of razor-sharp silver flying in every direction.

With thirty bodies scattered around the abandoned property the wolves had used for their den— and an inferno blazing where a small house once stood—getting out was their top priority. Mary didn't ease up on the accelerator until she had gotten herself and Emmy a hundred miles from the state line into Texas. It was another hundred before either woman decided it was safe to stop for the night.

They had chosen a small motel on the outskirts of a small town near Hillsboro, paid with cash, and ducked inside the room. Both women visibly relaxed when they were finally hidden by the thin four walls.

"Nice work tonight," Mary said, taking a seat on one of the beds with her phone in her hands. "Where did you learn to make a bomb like that?"

Emmy chuckled, crawling onto her own bed, lying on her stomach and propping herself up with her elbows to look at the other woman. "Thanks. My dad actually taught me. He had all kinds of handy tricks like that.”

"Your parents were hunters, too?" Mary asked. "So you grew up in the life."

"More like  _ around _ the life," Emmy said. "My parents were hunters, but when I was born they backed off a lot. They wanted me to choose my own path and I did for a while. I had big dreams of being a surgeon; they supported me a hundred percent. Of course, they made sure I knew what was out there, how to protect myself, what to look for. But they were so proud I was forging my own way."

A sad smile crossed Emmy's lips, memories of her mom and dad flooding through her mind. Not a day passed that she didn't think of and miss them.

"Then what happened?" Mary asked carefully.

"I was kidnapped by a demon when I was sixteen to be part of his  _ collection _ of creatures," Emmy said, disgust in her tone. "Apparently he found me interesting. My parents and a few of their friends tore up the entire east coast looking before they finally found me. They rescued me and the rest of his prisoners, but just when we thought we were safe, the demon showed back up and killed my mom and dad. I made friends with a guy named Raz while I was there—he was being held captive too. He was there when the demon attacked us after the fact. He got me out and after that, we just kinda stuck together. Hunting just seemed like a natural choice."

"I'm so sorry," Mary said quietly.

"I've come to terms with it," Emmy said. "Yes, I still miss them and there are days where the guilt just destroys me, but I can live with it now. This is how I make the world a better place. Even if it's not on a large scale."

"Are you and Raz still friends?"

"Oh yeah," Emmy said with a smile. "Real friends—real family like Raz, Cas, Sam, and Dean—they're hard to find, even harder to keep in this life. I hang on to the ones I have."

Mary sighed, averting her gaze to the ground. "I never wanted this life for them."

"I understand that," Emmy said softly. "But look at how much good they've done! How many people they've saved! Your sons have literally saved the whole world on more than one occasion!"

"I know and I'm beyond proud of them," Mary said honestly. "I just can't help but remembering that everything they have gone through is my fault."

"They don't blame you, Mary," Emmy promised. "You just being here, being a part of their lives, Mary, that makes them happier than I think either of them have ever been. And when we find them you guys can pick that back up."

"I just wish there was a way they didn't have to do this."

"Can you imagine a world without monsters?" Emmy asked, sending the memory of her and Mick's first meeting screaming to the forefront of her mind. "The British Men of Letters think it's possible."

"Do you believe that?" Mary asked incredulously, bringing her eyes back to her hunting partner.

Emmy shrugged, folding her arms and laying her chin on top of them. "Mick said they've done it in England, but I don't know. I want to, I guess. I'd like to believe that one day I could safely find someone to settle down with. Maybe have a kid or two. As of right now, I don't ever see that happening. I tend to send men running in the opposite direction."

Mary chuckled fondly and Emmy was sure it was due to some memory of John Winchester. "Trust me, sweetheart, the right man won't run. He'll love you for exactly who you are."

A pair of soft green eyes that resembled pale green sapphires flashed into Emmy's mind. The smile that came with them squeezed painfully at her heart. 

"I thought..." Emmy sighed. "For a second, I thought that…" She shook her head of the pipe dream she had almost let herself believe in. "It doesn't matter. It wouldn't have worked. Sam and Dean would have blown a gasket; Raz would have had issues with him."

"Look," Mary started. "I get that they are important people in your life and you want them to get along with whoever you're with, but it's  _ your  _ life and  _ your _ heart. Not theirs."

Emmy sighed heavily, turning over to lie on her back and stare at the stained ceiling. If Mary had any idea who the mystery man was, Emmy was sure she wouldn't have given that advice. However, the younger huntress couldn't deny that the British Man of Letters had been on her mind more often than not, and the longer they spent apart, the more she wanted to see him. Unfortunately, that just wasn't in the cards and it would do her heart good to realize that and move on. 

So why couldn't she?

Emmy's phone buzzed in her back pocket and she reached underneath herself to pull it out, finding a text from Raz.

_ On the road again. Antidote was a bust, but you'll never fucking believe who the ex BMOL was. Call me when you can. Oh...and you may have been kinda sorta right about Mick. He doesn't seem like a bad guy. All things considered, I mean. _

The upwards twitch of Emmy's lips was involuntary, but it was mixed with an irony that was almost comical. It would figure that Raz would start to like the man she didn't have a chance with.

"I have to call Raz," Emmy said, reluctantly getting back to her feet.

Mary nodded and Emmy excused herself from the room for a moment to call her friend. It was a conversation that left her with more questions than answers, and the sudden want to take a trip to South Dakota.

* * *

An unlikely bond was seemingly forged between Emmy and Mary after the werewolf hunt in Louisiana. The two huntresses stayed together for the following two and a half weeks, with Raz popping in here and there to help out. Shapeshifters in Washington state, rugaru in Nevada, two vamp nests in Wisconsin, and finally a vengeful spirit in Kansas. All the while, they used every resource they came across to hunt for the Winchester brothers.

It was a while after the vengeful spirit—and Raz was following a possible Winchester sighting in Texas—that Emmy suggested to Mary that she call Castiel and make amends. Emmy had kept contact with the angel the entire time Sam and Dean had been missing, but she knew Mary and Castiel hadn't spoken since that day at the bunker.

Mary took Emmy's advice, and a couple hours later the two were sitting on either side of the angel at the bar of a local watering hole not far from the bunker.

"Thanks for meeting me...us," Mary said, fiddling with the rim of her glass. She waited for Castiel to nod before she continued. "I just wanted to say…I'm sorry. I was angry, and...Sam and Dean, that's not your fault."

"No, you were right. I should never have left them," Castiel said defeatedly, lowering his gaze to the counter in front of him.

"Cas," Emmy said gently, placing her hand comfortingly on his forearm. "Don't do that. We were following Sam and Dean's plan. They wanted us to get Kelly out."

"I…" Castiel started, but cleared his throat and changed direction. "Have either of you heard anything?"

The two huntresses shook their heads regretfully, their gazes meeting for a moment before averting to the counter with the angel's.

"All my law enforcement contacts are retired or...dead," Mary sighed.

"Mine and Raz's just simply can't find any trace of them. Jody and Donna haven't even been able to find anything," Emmy added.

"We're trying, but…" Mary continued, her words trailing off. "You?"

Castiel simply shook his head, chancing a glance at each woman before staring back into his beer bottle.

"I keep telling myself they're fine," Mary said, "They've only been gone—"

"Six weeks, two days, and ten hours," Castiel interrupted.

Emmy cringed at the harsh reminder of how long it had been since the Winchester brothers had gone missing, and how long they had all utterly failed at finding them.

We'll find them," Mary said definitively. "We will. Until then, we just… We're doin' our best."

"Are we?" Castiel asked. The amount of self-loathing lacing his tone had Emmy fighting the urge to just hug him. "Did either of you hear about the murders in Lancaster, Missouri?

The two women shared a concerned glance before Mary answered. "No."

"The women with their throats ripped out, the blood drained?" Castiel began to describe.

"Vampires," Emmy said, sighing deeply.

"I saw it on the news and I thought, that's the sort of thing Sam and Dean would investigate," Castiel told them. "They would roll into town, save the day, kill the monsters. But with them gone…I tried to work the case. I tried." The angel paused for a huff of a self-deprecating laugh to escape him. "But...I don't know what I did wrong. I...I asked questions, but maybe they were the wrong people or the wrong questions, and I just...I never found it. Never found the monster. Never even got close. And three more women died before I left town. Before I ran away.”

"So we go back!" Mary said, trying to lift the angel's spirit. "You, Emmy, and me!"

"Yeah!" Emmy agreed. "We'll take the bastards out together!"

"No," Castiel sternly disagreed. "No, I'd only get in your way."

The trio stayed for a few more minutes after that, Emmy and Mary trying to talk Castiel out of his funk. Unfortunately, the angel excused himself and left before they could accomplish their goal. The two huntresses left themselves shortly after that.

"So, Lancaster?" Emmy asked after they had been on the road for a while.

Mary nodded solemnly from behind the steering wheel. "I'll let Cas know we got it."

* * *

Less than twenty-four hours later, Emmy walked around the side of a run-down one-story white house in Lancaster, Missouri. A machete drenched in vampire blood was gripped in her right hand. Her eyes scanned the area continuously, mentally keeping count of the vampires lying headless on the grass. The huntresses had chosen to come in on opposite sides once they tracked the location of the nest—Emmy from the back, and Mary through the front. 

Together, they had taken out the unusually large nest in less than fifteen minutes, and now they were just giving the place a thorough once-over to make sure they had gotten every last bloodsucker. However, as Emmy checked every inch outside the house, she couldn't ignore a gnawing feeling at the back of her mind. 

Something was off about this nest, and if she was being completely honest with herself, there had been something off about the last few vampire hunts she had been on. Each one had gotten bigger—the current one had been well in the double digits. That was something that not even Mary was able to say she had seen more than once. Then the huge werewolf pack in Louisiana. It was almost as if they were banding together because they were scared of something. But what?

"We good?" Mary called, walking down the front steps.

"All clear out here," Emmy replied.

Mary nodded and the two women walked towards Mary's car just outside of a chain-link fence. The older woman's phone rang just as they were getting into the vehicle, and she quickly accepted the call and held the device to her ear.

"Castiel?" Mary greeted, then paused. Emmy could hear the urgency in the angel's muffled voice. "Slow…slow down! What?" Mary's eyes suddenly went wide, all the color draining from her face. "Oh, god! We're on our way, Cas!"

"What's going on?!" Emmy asked, watching Mary hastily start the car and toss her phone into a cup holder.

"Dean called Cas!" Mary exclaimed, already pulling onto the road. "It's time to save our boys."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Blood and injury
> 
> Also...I'm gonna apologize now for the end of this chapter. Sorry...

Nearly two months of dead-end searches, worry, and frustration had finally come to a head. Dean had found a way to contact Castiel, informing the angel that he and his brother were in Colorado somewhere near the Rocky Mountain National Forest. They were headed—hopefully—towards State Route 34. It was not a lot to go on since that was a decently long stretch of highway, but it was more than they had gotten in weeks.

Mary had turned the six-hour drive from Lancaster, Missouri to Lebanon, Kansas into less than four. Castiel was standing waiting for her and Emmy beside Emmy's Mustang at a small park near the bunker when Mary parked her car. The angel was at Emmy's door as soon as it opened, crouching down to find both women loading their guns.

"You got here quickly," Castiel said.

"Yep," Mary and Emmy both replied, simultaneously pushing clips into their guns.

"What do you think we're walking into?" Mary asked, looking up at the angel.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "We may want backup."

"I'm meeting Raz at the Colorado State line," Emmy told him. "Then we're meeting you two in Boulder." 

"We may want more," Castiel suggested. "Crowley and Rowena?"

Both women turned looks of shock to the angel.

"The King of Hell and his mother, the witch?" Mary scoffed. "Hope we can do better than that."

"I may have an idea," Castiel said slowly.

"Good," Mary said, nodding at Emmy.

The younger huntress exited the vehicle, taking her keys from Castiel as he stepped aside.

"I think I might have an idea, too," Emmy said. A thought had been forming in her head since they had left Lancaster, and it was looking better and better the more time that passed. However, she spoke before either Castiel or Mary could respond. "Seat belt on, Cas; Mary drives fast."

"Don't all of you?" Castiel shot back, the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

Emmy simply returned his expression and turned to head towards her car. Could she really make the call she was thinking of? Sam and Dean would be furious, but they had told Castiel they were on a time crunch. She didn't really see much of a choice.

The huntress sighed as she got into her car. She then started the engine and followed Mary back onto the road. She was going to have to make that call. Sam and Dean were in trouble and they didn't have time to guess at where they may or may not emerge onto a road.

Emmy waited until after she had gotten off on the exit at the Colorado state line where she planned to meet Raz before she took her phone from her pocket and pulled up the contact she never thought she would use. She tapped the call button before she could change her mind and held the device to her ear, listening to it ring.

"Well, hello, Emmeline," Arthur Ketch said from the other end of the line after only two rings. "I didn't quite expect to hear from you."

"Yeah," Emmy replied, reminding herself to at least be cordial. "Listen, I think we need your help."

"We're aware."

"Wait, what?" Emmy asked, completely caught off guard. "How?"

"The angel already contacted Mick," Ketch told her. "We're meeting you in Boulder."

"Oh...OK then," Emmy said, not sure what else she could say. "Guess I'll see ya there."

"Actually," Ketch said before she could hang up the phone. "It would be helpful if we knew what was going on. The angel just asked if we could meet him."

"First of all," Emmy said, an annoyed lilt to her voice. "His name is Castiel. Second, I guess you'll find out soon enough."

The huntress ended the call just as she pulled into a parking space at a Colorado rest area next to Raz's truck. The reaper was leaning against the driver's side of his vehicle and moved to get into Emmy's car before she had even put the vehicle into park.

"We heard anything else?" Raz asked, shutting his door and pulling on his seat belt.

"No," Emmy replied, pulling out of her spot and navigating back towards the interstate. "But...we have a little backup."

Raz raised a curious eyebrow at his friend. "Let me guess, about five-ten, pretty green eyes, always wears a damn suit, Cockney accent?"

"And the other one."

"Well, not thrilled about Ketch being there," Raz said, leaning back in his seat. "I don't trust that asshat, but I'm glad you finally called Mick."

"I didn't call Mick… I called Ketch. Cas had already sent a message to Mick by the time I got a hold of Ketch."

Emmy glanced over to find the reaper staring at her with an utterly disbelieving expression on his face.

"Why didn't you call Mick?" he asked. 

She could tell he was carefully choosing his words. He didn't trust Ketch. She didn't either, but there was something deeper in Raz's suspicion of the man. Reasons he had refused to tell her, but considering what the angel's job used to be, she could only imagine what they were.

"Mick isn't going to want to talk to me," Emmy said, focusing on the road as she got back on the interstate.

"Do we really need to have this conversation again?" Raz asked. "The dude misses ya, Shortcake."

"Can we not do this?" Emmy asked, not even attempting to hide the pain in her voice.

Raz nodded reluctantly and promptly changed the subject to something more light-hearted. Emmy knew they weren't done with the topic, but at least for now she could continue to bury those thoughts and feelings that seemed to be smothering her lately.

* * *

Emmy and Raz followed behind Mary on the long stretch of paved road in Boulder, Colorado. Tall dense forest blurred on either side of their vehicles while they drove to the meeting place with the British Men of Letters. The day had turned bitterly cold with the onset of rain and the dreary sky reflected the conflicting thoughts in Emmy's head. A text message from Castiel had confirmed that Mary had no idea who they were about to drive up on and Emmy's stomach twisted into knots. How was she going to react to this?

However, that wasn't the only thing ravaging through her thought process. She was about to see him again. It had been two months since she ran away from Mick, and whether she wanted to admit it or not, she had missed him more than she could put into words. None of that mattered though. No matter what Raz thought he knew, Emmy was sure she had pushed Mick far enough away that he had abandoned any ill-conceived notions of there being anything between them.

Emmy sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth when the sight of the green-eyed Man of Letters that had been invading her thoughts came into view. He was standing there with Ketch in front of the black Bentley, both of them watching as both women parked their respective cars on the side of the road in front of them.

" _ This  _ is your idea?!" Mary demanded of Castiel as she exited her car. "The people that almost killed my boys,  _ they're  _ gonna be our backup? Suddenly, the demon and his mommy don't look so bad."

Emmy and Raz had come up from behind the other angel, standing next to him while he took his place next to Mary in front of her car.

"They helped us with Lucifer," Castiel told her, and Emmy hoped it would be enough to at least convince Mary to hear the two men out.

"Lucifer?!" Mick exclaimed, focusing solely on the angel. " _ The  _ Lucifer?!"

"Yes," Castiel confirmed.

"Wait," Mick continued, holding out his hands and taking a step forward. "So you're telling me what happened in Indianapolis was you took on the bleedin' Devil himself?"

The fact that Mick was making it a point not to look in her direction wasn't lost on Emmy's observation and she had to swallow down the sting that the lack of acknowledgment caused her.

"Yes." There was a hint of Castiel's patience waning this time.

"Did you win?" Ketch asked

"Yes!" Castiel answered, this time looking back and forth between the two huntresses as if he was completely and wholly offended they even had to ask.

There was finally a fleeting glance, one that didn't dare look in her eyes. Mick's gaze raked over Emmy with a mix of admiration and slight surprise that was held back by a wall of caution that he was intent to keep in check. It didn't last long and his eyes were meeting Ketch's, the two men sharing a thoroughly impressed look before they turned back to the quartet before them. 

"Bravo," Ketch praised.

"But," Mary interjected, visibly showing her reservations about the whole situation . "Sam and Dean were taken. We think we can get them back, but we need...help."

"So we'll help," Mick said simply, placing his hands in the pockets of his trench coat.

"Really?" Mary questioned, her brow shooting up in suspicion. "Just like that?"

"Mrs. Winchester…" Mick started, taking a deliberate step forward. "Mary...I came to this country to do one thing—make friends."

The unconvinced look between Mary and Castiel was sharp, but Emmy had to hand it to Mick for not letting it deter him. 

"But you American hunters," Mick continued "You're...you're a different breed than our sort. You're surly, suspicious. You don't play well with others.”

"Well, that is accurate," Castiel agreed, earning him a glowering gaze from both Emmy and Mary.

"Yeah, I concur with that, too," Raz said with a snorted laugh that turned into an "Ooff!" when Emmy elbowed him in the stomach.

"You don't trust people you don't know," Mick began again. "Even when they come bearing gifts. Now I can't help that, but I can help you. And if word were to get out that we did our part to save Sam and Dean Winchester, well, that's just good business, innit?" He paused to take in each of their reactions. "And who knows. When all this is over, we might even be friends."

There was a long moment of silence where the huntresses and the angels shared glances that held silent conversations each one of them seemed to understand without question. No matter what their personal feelings were towards the two British Men in front of them, this was what needed to be done to save Sam and Dean. One by one the quartet nodded their agreement and Mary turned back to Mick and Ketch.

"We think Sam and Dean were being held somewhere in the Rocky Mountain National Forest," Mary explained.

"Site 94?" Ketch asked, taking the silence he was met with as his cue to continue. "It's a government facility, off-books. Shadow ops. One of those places that officially doesn't exist."

"Then how do you know about it?" Emmy asked.

"We gather information," Mick replied and Emmy's eyes shot over to him, their gazes finally meeting for the first time since they had gotten out of their vehicles. "It's part of our job. I told you that."

His response wasn't short, nor did it hold any sign of disrespect for her. It was purely emotionless and Emmy found that that ripped her heart out more than anything he could have said or done to her. She swallowed hard, nodding her head and folding her arms over her chest in a weak attempt of keeping her own emotions locked so far down that they would never see the light of day again.

"They told us to meet them off State Route 34," Castiel added.

"Well, that's a long stretch of road," Ketch said. "Where, exactly?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel replied.

"I'll get our techs to put a satellite over the area," Mick said matter of factly and Ketch nodded.

"You can do that?" Mary asked. It was her turn to be impressed.

"They can," Emmy confirmed.

"And so much more," Mick promised, turning and walking to the passenger's side of Ketch's Bentley.

"Do any of you have any idea what sort of trouble we're walking into?" Ketch asked, pausing before he went back to his spot on the driver's side of his car.

"No," Castiel said honestly.

"Oh, good," Ketch said, a smile tugging at his lips. "I do like a surprise."

"There's a hotel about ten miles down the road in the direction we came from," Mick said, opening his car door. "Follow us there. We'll set up a temporary base from there and use it to find Sam and Dean."

The huntresses and the angels simply nodded, piling back into their respective vehicles and waiting for Ketch to turn his car around to go back in the direction he had come.

"You alright?" Raz asked and Emmy could feel his eyes on her, regarding her like she might break at any second.

"I'm fine, Raz," she said quickly, putting her Mustang into drive and following Mary back onto the road. 

"Shortcake—"

"Don't!" Emmy said. She had meant it as a warning, but instead, it had been more of a plea. "Just don't."

Raz nodded, reaching over to lay his hand on her shoulder and squeeze it lightly. Emmy took a deep breath, grounding herself with Raz's grasp and exhaling slowly. Sam and Dean would be home soon and this whole nightmare would be over. She could deal until then.

* * *

The hotel room the Men of Letters had chosen was upscale, a far cry above what the huntresses and angels were used to when they were on the road. A plush California king size bed with cream-colored sheets and a chocolate brown duvet was seated proudly in the center of the back wall. Mahogany nightstands were set on either side, adorned with copper-colored lamps that had fine gold detailing.

A sizable seating area sat in the right corner of the room, complete with a soft blue couch and two matching armchairs done in velvet upholstery. A mahogany coffee table was placed in the middle of the furniture across from what looked like a fully-stocked liquor cabinet.

On the opposite side of the room, a large flat-screen TV was mounted to the wall next to an expansive window dressed in elegant mocha-colored drapes. A sturdy table made from the same wood as the other furniture was in front of the window and held enough seats for four to sit comfortably in the cream padded dining chairs.

Behind the table was a door that led into the bathroom with double sinks and a shower big enough for two. Next to that was a double accordion door closet.

Mick watched the quartet enter the room, their eyes roving over the space suspiciously. He glanced over to Ketch, who simply rolled his eyes and went over to the liquor cabinet, choosing the most expensive scotch on the shelf and pouring himself a glass. 

"I believe it would be best to divide and conquer on this one," Mick suggested, placing the leather laptop case hanging from his shoulder onto the table.

Mick's intention was to send Raz and Emmy with Ketch to prepare weapons for whatever they may encounter when they actually found the Winchester brothers. It had only added salt to the already painful wounds when Emmy had called Ketch instead of him. He could understand Raz not saying anything about Sam and Dean the last time they had met—loyalty to Emmy and Mary and whatnot—but the younger huntress completely disregarding him had stung more than he cared to admit. However, he wouldn't say it out loud; it was her right to do as she felt was right and he wouldn't fault her for it.

Unfortunately, being around her and pretending he felt absolutely nothing toward her was extensively harder than Mick had imagined. He hadn't missed her reaction to his lack of one and that alone nearly tore his resolve to shreds. It also didn't help that he had most definitely noticed how tight her low-rise dark blue jeans were, or the thin strip of bare mid-drift between them and the form-fitting dark green baby doll tee she wore underneath her coat.

"Agreed," Ketch chimed in, downing his scotch and setting his empty glass on the cabinet. "Mary, Castiel, you two come with me and we will prepare any weapons we may need tonight."

The three of them were out the door, leaving Mick alone with Raz and Emmy before he could even respond. So much for that idea. 

The tension in the room suddenly seemed to skyrocket, at least between Mick and Emmy. Raz had simply plopped down into one of the chairs at the table with his elbow on the surface and his chin propped in his hand. The expectant grin on the reaper's face was making Mick want to throw the laptop he was currently pulling out of his bag at him. 

"Well this should be fun," Raz said.

Mick turned a glare to the angel just in time to see Emmy's balled up coat hit him square in the face. When the garment fell to the table, Raz was glaring at the young woman and Mick had to choke down the bout of laughter that almost smothered him by hastily turning to remove his own coat. 

"So," Raz started, dragging his gaze over to Mick who was now sitting at his computer. "What kind of satellite is going to pick up Sam and Dean in the middle of an undisclosed location when the sun is about to set?"

"Thermal imaging satellite from space," Mick replied, typing away on his computer and bringing up a coded screen of bright green binary numbers. He knew he had piqued Emmy's interest and was acutely aware when she moved to stand behind him.

"Are you…" she started, reading the information on the screen. "Are you hacking into NASA?!"

"No," Mick said, trying not to fidget. He could smell the soft scent of lavender coming from whatever perfume she was wearing and it was threatening to break his concentration. "I'm technically just getting into the system and waiting to be let in."

"By who?" Raz asked.

"Friends in all the right places," Mick said with a grin. "I made a call on our way here. We should be in—"

Before he could even finish his sentence, the screen on his laptop changed to a thermal bird's-eye view of the Rocky Mountain Region of the U.S.

"Right about now." Mick started typing coordinates into a text box at the bottom of the screen and a loading bar appeared on. "The connection is a little weak here so it may take a bit, but if they're out there, this will find them."

"How long are we talking?" Emmy asked, coming to sit on the table near Raz.

"Shouldn't be more than a couple minutes," Mick responded, keeping his eyes locked on the loading bar in front of him.

He could still see her in his peripheral vision, sneaking glances at his screen but never letting her gaze linger longer than a few seconds. She was radiating the same awkwardness and nervousness that he was attempting to drown with business-like professionalism when all he really wanted to do was throw her down on the bed behind him and make her scream his name while she came undone for him. Mick quickly cleared his throat, pushing away those thoughts and stiffening his posture.

"I told you we should have called him sooner," Raz complained.

"We've called now," Emmy shot back.

Perhaps it was the casual way the two longtime friends broached the subject, or maybe it was because it had obviously been a topic of debate for the two of them. It could even have been because  _ both  _ of them had a chance to bring him in on what was happening and chose not to. Whatever the reason, Mick felt a flame spark to life in his chest that had him clenching his jaw in frustration verging on pure anger. The fact of the matter was that she hadn't called  _ him _ .

"Actually," Mick started before he could think about what was coming out of his mouth. His head turned in their direction, but his eyes locked with Emmy's. "You called Ketch— _ not me _ —almost seven weeks after they went missing. I mean, I get Raz not saying anything; he’s loyal to you and all. But  _ you _ called  _ Ketch _ ! Would you really rather deal with someone you absolutely cannot stand than interact with me?"

"I didn't think you would want to hear from me," Emmy said quietly.

"Yes, well, you were wrong," Mick groused, turning his attention back to his computer screen. "You ghosted me  _ Ms. Turner _ , not the other way around."

Mick's anger was still raging inside of him enough that he could almost ignore the way her posture visibly sunk at his words, how the tears filling the corners of her eyes glinted in the lighting of the hotel room. He positively hated himself for being the one to cause that look in her eyes. Truth be told, he understood completely why she was hesitant about him and the things that happened between them. However, it didn't change that he had been hurt as well. Yet, he was still fighting to keep his gaze held steadfast in front of him. Fortunately, his laptop started beeping a split second before he caved and started apologizing.

"Got them!" Mick announced and immediately started typing, instantly changing the mood in the room to one electrified with a mix of hope, relief, anxiety, and a readiness to fight. "I'm sending the information to everyone's mobiles."

In a rush, the trio was jerking coats back on and running out of the room. It was finally time to save Sam and Dean.

* * *

It was two hours on back roads from the hotel to where they suspected Sam and Dean would come out of the woods, but at the speed Emmy and Mary were driving with Ketch hot on their heels, it had only taken them a little over an hour. The vehicles were barely in park and turned off before the huntresses and the angels were bounding out of the doors with guns drawn, taking off towards the tree line.

"WHOA!!" Mick and Ketch both called, both men sprinting to put themselves between the quartet and the woods.

They skidded to a stop, deadly glares leveled in the British Men of Letters' directions.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" Ketch demanded.

"Getting Sam and Dean!" Castiel growled.

"Those woods are crawling with military men that have been instructed to shoot first and ask questions later!" Ketch told them, annoyance bright in his tone. "The four of you run in there and it will get every one of you killed, including Sam and Dean!"

Emmy huffed in frustration, seeing her friends do the same. Ketch was right and they all knew it. It was dark and the four of them storming in would put a target on all of them, and possibly blow whatever cover Sam and Dean had managed to acquire.

The Men of Letters seemed to relax when one by one the huntresses and angels walked back towards their vehicles to begrudgingly wait for the Winchester brothers to get closer.

"We still have them on satellite," Mick reminded them, holding up his phone while he moved closer to the quartet. "We'll know when it's safe for us to go in."

The two British men had essentially kicked a hornet's nest and shoved it into a glass jar. Emmy could feel the pent up frustration pouring off of Mary and a charge in the air coming from the two angels. Patience wasn't a virtue for any of them, but she was glad that the Men of Letters still standing at the edge of the tree line like they were guarding it had it in spades.

Mary huffed loudly, leaning against the passenger's side of Emmy's car with her arms crossed over her chest, Castiel mirroring her position beside her. Raz had moved to sit on the edge of the Mustang's trunk, his right leg bouncing with his restlessness from where his foot rested on the back bumper. Emmy sighed, climbing up to sit next to the reaper. With all of the huntresses and angels seemingly standing down, Mick and Ketch came to sit on the hood of the Bentley that faced Raz and Emmy.

Mick's eyes were locked on his phone screen, Ketch looking over his shoulder. Emmy knew they were watching the satellite feed closely, waiting for the exact moment to send them in to grab the Winchester brothers. That was when she let her gaze linger on the man that had been on her mind for two months. He was finally right there in front of her, but it still felt like he was a million miles away. The last words he had said to her in the hotel room ran on repeat in her head, the look that had been in his eyes drilling into her. She really had messed this one up. He wouldn't even look at her now.

A hand covering hers broke Emmy's concentration and she looked over to see Raz gazing at her with concern creasing his features. His eyes flicked over to Mick with a slight tilt of his head and she understood exactly what he was telling her to do. He wanted her to go talk to him, to try and clear the air. Emmy just shook her head, she couldn't do that. Mick was done with her and she didn't blame him.

Emmy blew a rush of air from her lips and laid back against the rear window of the Mustang, her eyes closing just as she felt a sharp pinch in her left side. She yelped in surprise, clutching at her side when what was happening came crashing down on her.

FUCK!

Her eyes quickly met Raz's and they both knew her wound from the Divonna Blade was about to open up right in front of the British Men of Letters, who were now staring at her because of the scream that had just come out of her. Ketch was simply curious, but there was concern in Mick's eyes.

"Are you alright?" Mick asked.

Emmy forced a smile and nodded, letting Raz pull her back to a sitting position. "I'm fine," she lied. 

The pain in her side was beginning to feel as if a dull knife made of fire was trying to cut through the side of her torso. It was only a matter of time before the skin ripped open and blood soaked her clothes. 

Another hand landed on Emmy's shoulder and she snapped her head over to see Mary looking at her with questions and worry in her eyes. Castiel was behind her, his eyes locked with Raz's, obviously communicating on some frequency of angel radio.

"Is the injury you got from the vampire acting up?" Castiel asked, moving in front of Emmy to block the Men of Letters' view of her.

Mary's perplexed gaze raked over the trio in front of her, and Emmy hoped she would get the hint that they didn't want the other two men knowing what was about to happen. She finally gave a quick and discreet nod of her head.

"Yeah," Emmy choked out, praying it would just happen already so the pain would go away. "We didn't really get a chance to sew it up."

Raz was suddenly jumping down from beside her and striding forward. Emmy didn't understand why until she heard Mick speak.

"Does she need a doctor? If she's hurt we can get her fixed up."

"Nah, man," Raz said and Emmy could have applauded at the calm the reaper kept in his voice. "Cas can fix it. We just didn't really have time earlier with everything going on."

Emmy could just make out Raz guiding Mick back to the Bentley, asking any question he could think of about thermal imaging satellites as her head started to pound and her vision started to blur.

"Come on over here and I'll heal you," Castiel said, wrapping one arm around Emmy's waist and gently pulling her off the Mustang's trunk.

Castiel led Emmy to the back driver's side passenger seat of Mary's car and set her down, instructing the Winchester to get him some medical gauze. She quickly did as she was told, bringing the medical supply to the angel that was now kneeling on the ground beside where Emmy sat. He took the gauze and nodded at Emmy. 

The young woman could see Mary watching every move intently. She was going to have to tell Mary everything once this was over, but right now—a high pitch scream tore out of Emmy's mouth as a deep jagged cut ripped open the skin on her left side just under her ribs and down to her hip. Castiel was on her before any blood could drop to the car's upholstery, catching the dark red liquid with the gauze.

Emmy sucked in a sharp breath, the pain finally starting to subside now that the wound was open. However, the fast-approaching footsteps had anxiety ripping through her. She hadn't meant to scream, but the pain had been more intense than usual and it caught her off guard. Fortunately, Castiel's hand was hovering over the wound and healing it before Mick and Ketch both came into view.

"Sorry," Castiel said, turning to the two men once Emmy was healed. "I jerked the gauze too hard from where it had stuck to her injury. Everything is fine now."

The look on the British Men of Letters' faces said they didn't believe the angel as far as they could throw him, but apparently Castiel did not care.

"How's that satellite looking, Mick?" the seraph asked, standing and striding forward, giving the two men no choice but to step away from Emmy.

Mary followed, helping Castiel keep the two men occupied while Raz knelt beside Emmy

"Are you alright?" he whispered. "That was...off."

"I know," Emmy said quietly back, fixing her shirt. "It hurt a lot more than usual, too."

Raz shot a glance back to the others. "I think we may have raised some questions," he said, looking back at her. "Mick keeps looking over this way. Or he's worried about you because that's a pretty strong possibility, too."

Emmy glared at the reaper, pushing herself up and out of the car. "Can you not right now?"

The reaper simply nodded as he stood, but Emmy knew the conversation wasn't over. Nor was the suspicion she saw reflected back at her when she chanced a glance over to the British Men of Letters. 

* * *

Everyone was on edge. Raz could feel the static in their emotions and the friction starting to build that threatened to explode at the slightest hint of a spark. The reaper observed Emmy and Mary pacing near the tree line, Castiel staring into the woods from his place beside Mary's car, Ketch watching them all with a suspicious eye, and Mick keeping track of the satellite feed on his phone.

The reaper kept his eyes on all of them, studying even the smallest of micro-expressions on their faces. So, when Mick's lips twitched upwards into a smile, Raz was the first to see it. 

"Got them!" Mick announced. "Six hundred feet straight ahead." He pointed right in front of where Mary and Emmy had halted their steps to look at him.

As fast as the words left Mick's mouth, the two huntresses and Castiel were sprinting off into the tree line with Raz right behind them. Castiel stopped exactly six hundred feet in, his head whipping around as a silence fell over the quartet. All of them listened closely for something that would indicate the Winchester brothers.

Raz came to stand next to Castiel, leaving Mary and Emmy standing just a few feet away from them. That's when they heard it—something moving through the brush, twigs snapping under footfalls. Both angels turned just as the Winchester brothers emerged from the woods, looks of immense relief over both of their faces.

"Sam! Dean!" Castiel called out.

"Cas!" the brothers said together.

Sam was wrapping Castiel in a tight hug before anything else could be said, Dean going for Raz. The reaper instantly froze in the elder Winchester's embrace; he could feel it dripping off of him, the claim on his life. He had made a deal with a reaper and Raz could feel it flowing now between Sam and Dean both. 

They had made the deal together.

"Dean!" Raz whispered in his ear. "What the fuck did you do, Winchester?"

"We didn't have a choice," Dean whispered back. "You and Emmy gotta get out of here, Raz. She's coming at midnight."

Dean pulled away from Raz, leaving the angel awestruck as the elder Winchester went to hug Castiel and then to his mom and Emmy. Sam was already with the two women and the reaper quietly followed Castiel over to join in the reunion. They then went out of the woods, Raz watching as Sam's arm went around his mom and Dean's around Emmy.

"Mom, how did y'all even find us?" Sam asked as the whole group emerged from the tree line onto the road.

Mary sighed heavily, tilting her head towards the British Men of Letters standing in front of the black Bentley. "They helped."

"Hello, lads!" Mick said.

Raz could feel the Winchester brothers' angry and suspicious stares that fixed on the other two men as the group came to stand between Mary's car and the Bentley.

"They have a thermal imaging satellite that saw you," Castiel explained. "From space."

"Well,  _ we _ don't have one," Mick corrected. "Just borrowed it for a bit. Friends in all the right places."

"Someone at NASA let them in," Emmy added.

"Well, I guess this is where we're supposed to say thank you," Dean spat condescendingly.

"No need," Mick replied, the Winchester's tone not phasing him. "Happy to be of service."

"Again," Ketch chimed in.

"OK, then," Sam said, inhaling deeply. "We should get. The people we left, they'll call for backup any second." His eyes narrowed on Raz. There didn't need to be any words spoken for the reaper to know that Sam had already figured out he knew. "You and Emmy head in the opposite direction just to be safe."

All Raz could do was nod as he took his suddenly confused friend and led her towards her car while Sam and Dean started to usher Mary and Castiel into the other vehicle.

"Uh, you left survivors?" Ketch asked, his voice heavy with disbelief and disdain.

Everyone stopped and turned back towards the British man.

"They were soldiers," Dean insisted. "Just doing their job."

"Still…" Ketch replied. "A  _ bit _ unprofessional."

"We'll handle it," Sam said definitively, starting to gently push Mary back to the driver's seat. He shot another knowing look to Raz as he went around to get in on the front passenger's side. "Let's get."

Raz quickly turned with Emmy, pushing her towards the driver's seat of her own car, both of them missing the slight nod shared between the British Men of Letters right before they got into their own vehicle.

* * *

Emmy's gas pedal was still almost to the floorboard, flying down Route 34 when she noticed the black Bentley turn off behind her onto the road leading to Mick and Ketch's hotel. The two had kept pace with her almost the whole time, but now that they were gone she eased back on her speed and shot a glance in Raz's direction.

He looked almost sick, staring straight ahead with what looked like the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"You wanna tell me what the hell is going on?!" Emmy demanded. "Why are we going in the opposite direction of Sam and Dean?"

Raz shook his head defeatedly, casting his gaze to the floorboard. "No, I don't want to tell you," he said honestly. "But you know I will."

Her heart sank to the ground. Emmy knew something bad had happened, but how? When?

"Sam and Dean…" Raz started, pausing to choose his words. "They made a deal with a reaper... I'm guessing to escape that place, and she's coming to collect at midnight."

"WHAT?!" Emmy shouted, her eyes flying to the clock on the dash to find that it was exactly midnight. "That's right now!"

Raz nodded gravely. "That's why Sam sent us this way. He knew if the reaper saw me…"

"They'd take you, too," Emmy finished for him.

Tears flooded her eyes at the small despondent nod the reaper gave her. She forced herself to focus on the road in front of her, torn between turning the car around and getting to the Winchesters as fast as she could and getting Raz away from the situation as fast as possible.

"Raz…" Her voice came out as a strangled whisper that was heavy with tears.

"I know."

A heavy silence fell between them. What the hell were they supposed to do now? She had to get Raz away. The reaper had taken measures to hide himself from other angels, but they wouldn't do a bit of good if he walked out right in front of them.

The sudden scream ripping from Raz's lips had Emmy jerking her head in his direction just as a blinding white light filled the car. Emmy felt herself lose control and the car swerved dangerously in the road. At the speed they were going, if she didn't get a hold of the path of the car…

The light faded as quickly as it had invaded, and a scream tore from Emmy; they were headed straight for the tree line with no time for her to change their trajectory.

The next thing her brain registered was a fluttering of yellow feathers, a deafening crash, and her body connecting with cold, wet dirt and grass, along with two arms wrapped around her.

Her brain was running a thousand miles a minute, barely connecting that Raz had flown them out of the car. She scrambled out of his arms, pushing through...his wings?

She was to her feet in a second, taking in Raz's groaning form that was still face-first in the dirt. A gasp punched from her lips upon the sight before her. The reaper's wings were out in all their true form glory. Feathers of Tuscany yellow had unfurled from his back, flowing up to the arches where the color started to fade into a deep blood orange. However, the tips that reached down to his feet were charred and mangled.

"RAZ!!!" Emmy shouted, dropping to her knees and attempting to turn him on his back.

He hissed and groaned in pain as she flipped him, trying to be careful of his damaged wings. It was only when he was flat on his back did she notice his wings had ripped his coat and shirt to shreds. In the center of his chest was a deep stab wound nearly as big around as a tennis ball that was profusely spilling blood onto the ground.

"Raz!!" she cried again, shucking her own coat off and balling it up to press to his wound. "What happened?! What do I do?!"

Tears started to spill from her eyes when she noticed he was having trouble keeping his own open.

"They...I think.." Raz started, gasping for breath. "One of them killed the reaper!"

"And it hurt you?!"

"Because...I'm...fallen," he choked out. "Holy oil...holy water...eight ounces of each."

Emmy nodded frantically, springing to her feet and running to her car. Another gasp rushed out of her at the state of the vehicle. The front end was smashed all the way to the shattered windshield, the front wheels poking out at odd angles. The doors were bent with their windows gone as well. She swallowed hard, rushing up to the crash and reaching in the driver's side window to grab the keys that were thankfully still in the ignition.

Her feet couldn't carry her fast enough to the trunk, praying to whatever higher power was listening that it wouldn't be stuck closed. She nearly cried out when it opened with ease, but the state of the items in her trunk was something not to be desired. She rummaged through the mess, finding the bottle of holy water quickly, but she almost sunk to her knees when she picked up the broken bottle of holy oil. It had all spilled out and soaked into the trunk upholstery.

A sob thrashed its way out of her and she fought to keep control of herself. She had to think fast, Raz was dying and she was the only one that could save him. Mary didn't have any holy oil in her car and she had no contacts in Colorado.

Or did she?

Her feet were moving before her brain caught up, and she was frantically throwing her upper body through the window of her driver's side. She didn't care about the leftover glass slicing through her clothes and into her skin—she had to find her phone, her time was running out.

Her fingers finally closed around it and she shoved herself out of the vehicle, leaning her back against the wreckage as she sunk to the ground. There was only one call she could make now, and she prayed he would answer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Blood, injury, smut

Mick collapsed into the California king size bed in his hotel room. He was still in his suit, but his tan trench coat had been discarded somewhere along the path from the door to the bed. It had been a long day and all he really wanted to do was sleep. Ketch was already on the road, off to tie up the loose ends left by the Winchesters. Luckily, the hotel had an in-house rental car service and Mick was able to acquire his own vehicle before he went up to his room.

A sigh escaped him, his eyes fluttering closed. However, his phone ringing shrilly in the inside pocket of his suit jacket had them snapping back open.

"Now what?!" he growled, pulling out the device.

His brow furrowed together when he saw Emmy's name flashing across the screen. For a fleeting second, he thought about letting it go to voicemail, but he knew he wouldn't do that to her. A heavy sigh fell from him as he accepted the call and held the device to his ear.

"Hello, Em—"

"Mick! Thank God you answered!" she half-shouted from the other end, her voice cracking. 

She was crying and sounded absolutely terrified! What the hell was going on?!

"Emmy! Luv, what's wrong?!" he asked urgently, springing up to a sitting position and not even realizing what he had called her. His stomach twisted and his heart clenched in his chest. 

"I need your help!" she sobbed. "My car is totaled! Raz is hurt!"

"Emmy, calm down. Are  _ you _ hurt?" Mick urged gently, even though he was barely holding it together beneath the surface. "Tell me where you are. I'll call—"

"NO!!" she screeched. "Please! Don't call anyone! Just you! I need holy oil!"

Holy oil?! What?! She had just told him they were in a car crash. What could she need that for?!

"Mick! Please!"

"OK!" he said, jumping to his feet. "I have some, but you gotta tell me where you are."

"I-I-I'm not sure exactly," Emmy stammered. Her voice was breaking again and he knew a wave of fresh tears was about to break free. "I was driving so fast! I saw you and Ketch turn off and a few minutes later…" Her words trailed off when she started crying again. "Mick, he's dying!!"

Mick was on his feet and at his laptop bringing up a GPS application in a flash. "Breathe, Emmy! Just breathe, Luv. I'll find you!"

He could hear her trying to drag ragged breaths of air into her lungs, each one accented with a hiccup of a sob she was trying to smother down.

"That's my girl!" he praised comfortingly, typing her cell phone number into the application. "Deep breaths."

It only took seconds for the program to latch on to her signal, to which he was beyond thankful for. She was fifteen minutes away down Route 34.

"Found you," he said, looking around for his coat and grabbing it along with a glass bottle of holy oil from his suitcase as he made his way hurriedly out the door. "I'm leaving the hotel now. I'll be to you in five minutes."

"Thank you!" she cried. "And Mick, please, I beg of you, don't tell anyone! Don't call anyone! Please!"

Her request went against everything that had been ingrained into him since he was a child. There was obviously something going on here that was of the supernatural variety. The desperate need for holy oil told him that. It was his duty as a Man of Letters to report this kind of thing. Yet, somehow, he had no problem agreeing.

"I promise, Luv."

* * *

Tires came screeching to a halt when Mick saw the broken and mangled state of Emmy's car on the side of the road. His stomach lurched and he could feel the color drain from his face. How the hell did either Raz or Emmy walk away from that?! The front end was obliterated, windows smashed, doors bent in on themselves.

Pulling himself back together, Mick pulled over to the shoulder of the road near the crash and got out of his vehicle. The holy oil was clutched in his left hand as he looked around for Emmy or Raz.

"Emmy?" he called loudly, walking closer to the dense tree line.

Less than a minute later, she came rushing out from the woods and Mick's heart dropped to his feet again. Blood and dirt soaked the front of her jeans and shirt, her hands covered well up to the middle of her forearms. Her eyes were wide and frantic and tear-stains streaked down her face.

"Emmy!" Mick cried out, his voice strangled.

He swiftly made his way over to her, immediately trying to check her over for injuries.

"Mick!" she said, grabbing his free hand to halt his actions.

She was shivering, too. Where was her coat? 

"It's not my blood," she continued quietly.

Nausea rolled over him. If it wasn't hers that meant it all belonged to Raz. Was he too late?

"Where's Raz?" he asked, shoving down the anxiety invading his mind with images of what condition the man must be in.

"He's in there," she said, tilting her head to indicate the trees behind them. 

Her hands tightened around his and his gaze locked on to hers. There was an uncertainty there and he couldn't figure out why. What was making her so hesitant all of a sudden?

"Emmy?"

"Mick," she started, pausing to choose her words. "You need to brace yourself. There are things about Raz you don't know."

Confusion flooded Mick's mind. Why was that even important right now? He simply nodded, unsure of what else he could say.

"Come on," Emmy said, releasing his hand and turning to lead the way into the woods with Mick following behind her. "He's right over here."

They came upon a clearing and Mick felt like he had crashed into a wall. He could hear the gears in his own head grind as he tried to make sense of exactly what he was seeing. Raz was lying in the middle of the small clearing, blood pouring from a gaping wound on his chest. Though, that wasn’t what was short-circuiting the neurons in Mick's brain. It was the expansive Tuscany yellow and blood orange wings with charred and mangled tips that were giving him trouble forming sentences. How had he missed this?!

"Raz is a...he's.." Mick stammered, trying to string coherent thoughts together.

"He's an angel," Emmy said, gently taking the holy oil from Mick's hand. "An ex-reaper actually."

All Mick could do was stare while he watched Emmy hurry over to the reaper and drop to her knees to gently maneuver Raz's upper body into her lap. A million questions were running through the Man of Letters' mind. How did they not know he was an angel—a reaper?!  _ An ex-reaper. _ How were they able to hide it? Why did they hide it? 

Slowly, his brain started making connections from the conversations he had had with Raz over the past few months. The Divonna Blade. A human that needed the antidote and an angel that had to keep healing the wound. Emmy's sudden need to be healed when they were on the road waiting for Sam and Dean. It was her! She was the one that Raz was trying to help! What had these two been through together, and how was it connected to the demon Djall that Raz was intent on finding alone?

"Raz!" 

Emmy's shaky voice broke through Mick's thoughts. She was scared again and he could see why. Raz was terrifyingly pale, his head lulling to one side and then the other in her lap. His eyes were closed; he was almost gone.

"Raz!!" Emmy called again, her voice breaking with her tears. "I've got the holy oil! I don't know what to do from here! You have to wake up and tell me! RAZ!!"

Logic finally snapped back into Mick's brain, lore on angels rushing to the front of his mind. He needed to know what happened. Shucking off his own coat and suit jacket, he moved carefully over to her. Rolling up his sleeves, he knelt down beside Emmy.

"You need to tell me what happened, Emmy," he said calmly. His head may have been a hurricane with his logic and facts being the only thing keeping his head above water, but he wasn't about to let her know that. He needed to keep her calm. "I think I can help, but I need to know what we're up against, Luv."

She nodded quickly, sniffling and wiping her face with her shoulder. "He's fallen and he said someone killed a reaper. There was a bright light and we were headed straight for a tree. He flew us here and then I noticed he was hurt. He told me that I needed eight ounces each of holy oil and holy water. I ran to the car to get it, but I only had holy water. That's when I called you. When I got back he was unconscious."

Mick pulled a deep breath into his lungs. He could handle this. "Where's the holy water?"

She reached down beside her and pulled up a translucent plastic bottle of what he asked for, and he carefully took it from her hands along with the holy oil. He could feel her watching him closely while he measured out the exact amounts into one container, capping it with his thumb and shaking it.

Once he was sure the two substances were well incorporated with each other, he carefully poured half of the mixture into Raz's wound. It popped and sizzled, sending tendrils of smoke wafting from the reaper's chest.

"You have to get him to drink the rest," Mick instructed Emmy, handing her the bottle.

"OK," she said, taking the container from him.

As carefully as she could, Emmy tilted Raz's head back and slipped the opening between the reaper's lips. Little by little, she emptied the contents into his mouth and made sure he swallowed it.

The moments that followed felt like an eternity, both of them holding their breaths until Raz started to cough and sputter. Emmy's arms wrapped around him in order to hold the reaper still, her eyes going wide when the wound on his chest started to heal.

Raz groaned, his eyes fluttering open and looking around. He started when his gaze fell on Mick, quickly looking up at Emmy as his wings faded back into their invisible form. "I guess the winged cat's outta the bag," he joked weakly.

"Raz!!!" Emmy shouted, tears falling unabashedly from her eyes as she buried her face in the crook of the reaper's neck. "I thought—fuck! Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

"Sorry, Shortcake," Raz apologized, reaching up with one hand to place it on the back of her head. His eyes flicked over to Mick, regarding him cautiously. "I guess we have some explaining to do."

"That would be appreciated," Mick said, still reeling from what had just happened. "But let's get you two somewhere warm and safe first."

Together, Mick and Emmy gathered what they could from the site and helped Raz to his feet. Once the reaper was safely in the backseat of Mick's car, the two quickly started moving the supernatural arsenal in the Mustang's trunk into the other vehicle.

With the last of her weapons safely in his trunk, Mick closed it and looked around to find Emmy standing close to her car with her arms wrapped around herself and shivering again while she stared at the mangled Mustang. He grabbed his trench coat from where it had been placed on the hood of his car and crossed over to her, placing the coat around her shoulders.

"I know it's trivial," she said, holding back tears. "But...my car."

"It's not trivial," he assured her. "That car means a lot to you. Were you able to find your necklace at least."

Emmy nodded, raising her right hand to show the silver chain that had been hung on her rear-view mirror. "What are we going to do about the car though? If the wrong person finds it…"

"I'll get it taken care of," Mick promised her. "I'll have Serena send out some of our team to retrieve it."

Emmy's head whipped in his direction, her eyes wide with fear. "Mick!"

"Calm down!" he said quickly. "I fully intend on keeping my promise to you. People get in car crashes all the time. I'm just going to have it cleaned up."

She visibly relaxed, pulling his coat further around her. "Thank you."

"You're still telling me what the hell is going on here though," Mick said sternly.

She nodded, a breath rushing from between her lips. "I guess we owe you that."

* * *

Mick tossed his tan trench coat and dark blue suit jacket down on the coffee table inside the room he had gotten for Raz and Emmy. It was next door to his, identical except for having two queen size beds. He sighed heavily, letting himself fall into the couch, leaning into the cushion and resting his head along the back.

It was past two in the morning by the time the trio had gotten back to the hotel and managed to sneak past any onlookers with their blood-drenched clothing. Luckily, Mick was wearing dark colors so the bored and uninterested front desk girl didn't even give him a second glance when he booked another room. Never in his life had he been more thankful for poor customer service.

The bathroom door opening caught the British man's attention and he turned his head to see Raz walking out, his long auburn hair damp from a shower and wearing a white t-shirt with black sweatpants.

"Why don't I have a short, little, blue-eyed blonde hovering over me?" Raz asked, looking around the room and noting Emmy's absence.

Mick couldn't help but chuckle softly. "I made her go have a shower in my room."

"Probably a good idea." Raz nodded, coming around to sit in the armchair furthest away from Mick. "I think she had more of my blood on her than I did."

Mick nodded, raising his head to meet the reaper's gaze. There was no sense beating around the bush anymore. He needed some answers. "So, you wanna tell me why the Winchesters killed a reaper tonight?"

Raz raised a curious brow at the man. "How did you…"

"Wasn't hard to put together," Mick shrugged. "Something like this happens, it's not hard to link it to those two. Especially after Emmy mentioned a dead reaper and you being fallen."

"Yeah," Raz admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Guess that wouldn't be hard to connect." He paused, taking a breath before he answered Mick's question. "We haven't actually spoken with Sam and Dean, so we don't know everything. But before we all went our separate ways, I felt a reaper deal on the two of them. Dean confirmed it."

"That's why Sam sent you and Emmy in the opposite direction," Mick said. "Do they know about you?"

Raz nodded slowly. "Mary doesn't, or she didn't. She might now."

"Why didn't you tell anybody that this would happen to you?" Mick asked. "I mean, I would think you would have mentioned it after Dean killed Death!"

"You know about that?" Raz questioned.

"We do."

"Of course you do," Raz laughed. "Honestly? I don't know. Guess there never was a good time to say 'Hey, just so you know, the next reaper that dies becomes the new Death, and since I'm a fallen reaper their wound will transfer to me.' That's just not something that comes up. How did you know what to do anyway?"

"Part of my studies at Kendricks was angel lore."

"Ah, yes, your Hogwarts school," Raz said with a chuckle. "Emmy mentioned that."

Mick couldn't help but laugh, too. He had wondered when someone would make that joke. However, the jab was quickly forgotten when the door to the room opened and he almost choked. Emmy walked in with her long golden hair cascading down around her shoulders and wearing a pair of extremely short black cotton shorts with a form-fitting tank top that matched her vivid cerulean eyes. Mick quickly fixed his stare to the coffee table as she crossed the room and sat on the opposite end of the couch from him, tucking her legs underneath her.

"So," she started, looking between the two of them. "What part of this awkward conversation are we on?"

Raz quickly filled Emmy in on what he and Mick had spoken about, which left the huntress leveling a hard glare at the reaper.

"What the hell, Raz?!" she exclaimed. "Those are the kinda damn things you share with the fucking class!! You're lucky Mick knew what to do to save your ass!!'

"I know! I know!" Raz said earnestly, raising his hands in surrender. 

"Do you know which reaper died?" Mick asked.

Raz shook his head and lowered his hands to the armrests. "I'm not that connected anymore, but if I had to guess, a reaper named Billie. She's not Sam and Dean's biggest fan and would jump at the chance to take them off to wherever they're going."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," Mick snarked. "Enough about them though." He turned in his seat so he could see Emmy and Raz fully. "What's your story? Why hide the fact that you're an angel from us? We don't have a problem with Castiel."

"It's not the British Men of Letters we’re worried about," Emmy replied, looking over to Raz.

"Regular angels don't take kindly to those who rebel," Raz explained. "But reapers…It just doesn't happen. We're a different breed of angel and, as I learned the hard way, that's a high commodity for certain individuals—mostly demons, witches, that sort of thing. Humans don't really see the difference. It's just safer for Emmy and myself if as few people as possible know what I am."

"And how did you get the human information that shows up on even  _ our _ background checks?" Mick questioned. "You have a birth certificate."

There was a quick uncertain glance between the huntress and the reaper.

"Come on, mates," Mick encouraged. "I'm risking a lot by keeping this between the three of us. The least you can do is be completely honest with me."

Emmy pursed her lips and looked back over to her friend. Mick swore he could see a whole conversation between the two with just that one look. Finally, Emmy nodded and both turned back to the British Man of Letters.

"To explain that," Raz started hesitantly. "We might need to start from the beginning."

The thought of getting up and walking out the door went through his mind at that exact moment, and Mick would be lying if he denied it. But he had made a promise to both Emmy and Raz that he would keep the angel issue between them, and he would. Yet, something told him that the information they were about to give him would push his limits on what he could and couldn't keep from the home office.

That being said, when Emmy's gaze met his, there was something about it that rooted him to his spot. The awkwardness, nervousness, and—on his part at least—anger that had put a roadblock between them just a few hours before was gone. She was looking at him with trust in her eyes, a look he hadn’t seen from her before. He couldn't shake the feeling that her being willing to let him in on her secrets meant more than either of them could truly grasp at the moment.

Emmy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before she began. "I'm sure by now Ketch has told you about the connection between Djall and a demon named Desmond.”

Mick simply nodded. Ketch had indeed told him about Desmond, his collection, and how he had been the one to kill Emmy's parents. He was also aware that Djall used to work for Desmond.

"What he Ieft out was  _ why _ Desmond killed my parents," Emmy continued. "When I was sixteen, Desmond kidnapped me and held me prisoner with the rest of the beings he kept under lock and key. It was mostly different varieties of nymphs and sprites, a few werewolves and vampires, a Grigori angel, and…" She paused to look over at Raz. "An ex-reaper."

"He just found the slowest most torturous deaths for most of the creatures," Raz said. "The nymphs and sprites, he would drain their magic first. But the angels...he liked to experiment on us. He's the reason my wings are damaged. Bastard wanted to see how much they could take before I couldn't fly anymore. To this day I can only fly  _ maybe  _ a mile on my own and I'm wiped. It's only a few hundred feet if I have a passenger."

Just thinking about what Raz must have endured during his time with the demon had Mick's stomach turning. He knew what the reaper was sharing wasn't even half of the story.

"The Grigori didn't make it," Emmy added. "Raz was… He wasn't in good condition when Desmond put me in the same cell with him, but he still protected me...as much as he could anyway."

The sick feeling Mick had felt when Raz talked about his wings was nothing compared to what came over him with the weight of Emmy's last words. She didn't need to elaborate for him to be able to fill in the blanks of what a demon would do to her.

"Needless to say," Raz said. "Emmy and I got close during the month she was there. Thankfully, she had someone looking for her."

"My parents covered the entire East Coast with their friends Rufus and Bobby looking for me," Emmy explained. "A few other hunters helped them, too. They had amassed a small army by the time they stormed the place."

"A man that went by the name Tucker Miller was the one to bust everyone out of their cages," Raz said. "Then we all joined in on taking the demon bastards down. Unfortunately, Desmond and Djall got away, but we were all free and alive."

"Pretty much all the victims beat feet as soon as things were calm," Emmy said. "But Raz was still hurt pretty bad. My parents took him in and Tucker built the identity Raz Bennett. Then, Tucker just up and vanished."

"It wasn't long after that that Desmond found us again," Raz said, now watching Emmy closely. "Her parents...they were gone before we even knew what hit us."

"But Raz got me out," Emmy said. "We jumped in the Mustang and took off to Bobby's. We started hunting together after that."

"Much to Bobby's dismay," Raz interjected.

"It was the only thing that felt right though," Emmy added.

Mick scrubbed a hand down his face, letting the information process. The human and the reaper's friendship suddenly made so much sense. They had gone through hell together, but there were still a few questions they had yet to answer.

"When did Emmy get stabbed with the Divvona Blade?" Mick asked.

"Yeah," Emmy said, her eyes cutting to Raz. "I told you he would figure that one out."

"Technically!" Raz shot back, raising a finger for emphasis. "I never said he  _ wouldn't _ figure it out. I just said I was being careful."

"Uh-huh," Emmy groused, folding her arms over her chest. Her expression softened when she turned back to Mick. "Desmond used me as his distraction to get away. He stabbed me with the blade and when everyone was reacting to that, he and Djall got the hell out of Dodge."

"With the blade," Raz interjected. "I healed her, but as you know, the wound keeps opening."

"And that's what happened on the road earlier?" Mick asked.

"Yeah," Emmy nodded. "With everything that was going on, we lost track of just how much time had gone by. I'm just glad Cas was there to heal it so Raz didn't have to out himself."

The questions kept piling up in Mick's mind and he found himself wishing he had something to write them down on. At the rate he was going, there was no way he would remember to ask every single thing running in his mind and he wasn't sure if the duo in front of him would be so willing to share everything once this conversation was over.

"What if he wasn't?" Mick asked.

"We've pushed the healing to about two and a half weeks—" Emmy started.

"No!" Raz interrupted. " _ You've _ pushed it two and a half weeks before! I did not approve of that!"

"Either way!" Emmy said, steering the conversation back. "As long as I keep it taken care of, I don't get any of the original effects until about then. I mean, it still hurts, but not as bad as it ripping back open."

Mick found his eyes traveling down to Emmy's side and wanting more than ever to help Raz find a way to fix the issue.

"How long between healings does it happen?" Mick asked, his gaze drifting back up to meet Emmy's.

"It used to be a year," Emmy stated. "But over time, it's gotten shorter. It's down to seven weeks now."

That one felt like a punch to the stomach. Was she slowly dying? What happened from here? Would that time keep getting shorter and shorter until… 

"Uh…" Mick had to clear his throat before he could speak. The thought of losing the woman on the other end of the couch from him had a lump building in his throat. "We'll find a way to fix this."

"Yes!" Raz agreed. "We will."

"OK," Emmy said, but Mick could feel the disbelief in her tone and it tore at his heart. "But that's not what this conversation is about and it's almost three in the morning."

Emmy fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat, her hand coming up to fiddle with a lock of her hair. It was easy to see that the topic worried her more than she let on.

"She's right," Raz said reluctantly. "Any other questions?"

Yes. Mick had a million questions running through his mind, fighting for the chance to be voiced. However, there was one that kept popping up over and over again.

"Did you ever hear from Tucker again?" Mick asked.

Both Emmy and Raz stilled, exchanging yet another uncertain glance between. 

"We have," Emmy started slowly. "Well, Raz has."

There was a long pregnant pause between the duo, another look that held unspoken conversations. Mick suddenly got the feeling this was the part that would force him to make a choice.

Raz's hand came up to grip the back of his neck while he nodded at Emmy. The reaper's eyes fixed on Mick. "You've already met Tucker...in South Dakota."

Mick's brow knitted together in confusion. The only person other than Raz he had contact with in South Dakota was with...NO! Mick felt the air rush out of his lungs, turning to plant both of his feet on the ground and rest his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped together. There it was. How could he not report back that Walter Stanhope had broken the code? There was absolutely no documentation on anything that Raz and Emmy had told him, and if Walter was there, he would have had to report back in detail what had happened. Yet, there was nothing.

What was making him feel like throwing up must have been written all over his face because the tension in the room was suddenly palpable. He felt the cushions move on the couch, but with his stare fixed on the coffee table, he didn't register Emmy moving until her hand came to rest on his forearm.

"Mick, are you alright?" she asked him softly. "I know this is a lot to take in."

An ironic chuckle fell from Mick's lips before he could stop it. She really had no idea.

"I uh…" Mick paused to clear his throat. "I'm alright, Luv. Just...processing."

It was the only way he knew how to even attempt to put into words what was screaming in his head. If he did what he knew he should do and report on Walter, the man would be killed and more than likely Mick himself would have to be the one to instruct Ketch to do it. But Walter wasn't hurting anyone; the former British Man of Letters had done what he did to protect Raz and Emmy, and he readily gave information that could link him back to the situation to help the two of them once again. Not because that's what he was told he should do, but because it was the right thing to do. Could he really rip that away from the man? It didn't seem right. It  _ wasn't _ right.

"Mick?"

The concern in Emmy's voice for him pulled a small smile to his lips. She had just basically poured her life story out in front of him and all she was worried about was his well-being. He should be the one comforting her, but that was a dangerous road as well.

"I'm alright," Mick said again, this time looking over to meet her gaze and place a hand over hers. "This was just a little more than I was expecting. Have either of you found anything on Djall?"

"There isn't a trace of him anywhere," Raz said, the agitation over the issue clear in his tone.

Mick hesitated, looking back and forth between the duo. "We could help you with that. When you're ready of course. No one needs to know about Raz for us to hunt a demon."

Emmy looked back at Raz for a moment before she turned her attention back to Mick. "Do you mind if we think about that one?"

"Not at all," Mick replied, squeezing her hand lightly. "I still have to get you two back to wherever Raz's truck is sometime tomorrow. We can talk more about it then if you'd like."

The duo nodded and Mick stood, reluctantly removing himself from Emmy's hold and turning to face them both. "I think we all need some rest. Well...Emmy and I at least."

"Oh, I'll be sleeping tonight, too," Raz said with a laugh. "That whole almost dying thing really took it out of me. Thanks for the save, by the way."

"You're welcome," Mick said with a smile. "Now if you two will excuse me, I have a couple teams I need to check in with before I can have a shower myself and go to bed."

"Teams?" Emmy questioned.

"Yes," Mick said. "We're currently working on clearing out the vampires in the Midwest Region and the werewolves in the Deep South. I have a team in Iowa and Alabama that should be finishing up right about now."

Emmy's brow suddenly furrowed in concentration. Mick could practically see pieces of a puzzle she had been trying to work out falling into place.

"You guys are the reason they're scared!" she exclaimed. "You guys are actually making enough of a dent in their numbers that they're banding together."

"Yes," Mick confirmed. "Makes things a bit more complicated, but at the same time we get more of them at once."

"Wow!" Emmy whispered.

"Yeah," Raz said, agreeing with her sentiment. "That's pretty impressive."

"Like I've told you both, we're here to help," Mick told them, moving towards the door. "Goodnight you two. We'll talk more in the morning."

With a "Goodnight" from Raz and Emmy each, Mick was in the hallway walking to his own room. He had a lot to think about and a huge decision to make. The only thing he could really hope for at the moment was that he made the right one.

* * *

There hadn't been much said between Raz and Emmy after Mick left the room. Emmy was lost in her own thoughts and she was sure Raz was as well. Had they made a mistake by telling Mick everything that they did? Would he keep their secret? Was it really possible for them to have the world without monsters Mick had promised months ago? What was he doing right now? Was he still angry with her?

The last question caused her more grief than she cared for and Emmy growled as she turned over in her bed trying to find a comfortable position. She really needed to get some sleep, but her mind just wouldn't stop. 

"Will you just go talk to him already?" Raz asked from the other bed, exasperated. "Neither of us are going to get any sleep if you keep tossing and turning the way you are."

Emmy huffed, rolling back over to peer at her friend through the dark. He was propped up on one elbow and even though she couldn't really see his face, she knew he was giving her a knowing—yet somewhat annoyed—look.

"I'm sure he doesn't want to deal with me anymore tonight," Emmy tried to reason.

"Yeah," Raz shot back sarcastically. "That's why he had to pick his tongue up off the floor after you walked in the room."

"What?!"

"Seriously?!" Raz exclaimed. "The dude choked on air!! You're telling me you missed that?!"

"What do you think about what they're doing with the fangs and the wolves?" Emmy asked, blatantly ignoring the reaper's question and changing the subject.

She heard Raz sigh exaggeratedly and flop back onto the mattress. "I think I want to know more about it before I pass judgment. Pretty sure we'd have to be working with them in order to get all the details," he said honestly.

Emmy chewed at her bottom lip, not sure she even believed the words that were about to come out of her mouth. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

The gears inside Raz's head were almost audible while he contemplated her question and Emmy could feel the anxiety starting to grow.

"I don't know, Shortcake," Raz admitted. "Walter said to be careful who we trust, but that they could probably help like they say. I don't trust Ketch  _ at all _ , but Mick I can't help but trust. Are you wanting to give it a shot?"

"Maybe...I don't know," Emmy sighed, rolling to her back and staring at the ceiling. "They've already done a lot for us. I know most of that had a lot to do with Mick, but if it wasn't for them we never would have gotten Lucifer out of the President. I would certainly be dead. You would be, too. Not to mention helping us save Sam and Dean."

"Sam and Dean wouldn't be thrilled with the idea."

"Well, they wouldn't have to know right away," Emmy said. "Not until we were sure they're legit."

"Listen, Shortcake," Raz said with a deep sigh. "You know I got you no matter what, but the second something feels off we bounce."

"Well, that's a given," Emmy stated. "Are we really gonna do this?"

The reaper took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "It appears that way."

There was a brief moment of silence before Raz turned onto his side to look at her. "You should go tell Mick."

"Raz!" Emmy exclaimed. "It's after three in the morning! He's probably asleep and doesn't want to be bothered!"

"I got twenty bucks that says not only is he awake, but he can't get you out of his head either," Raz said. "So! Get your ass out of that bed and go talk to him so we can all get some sleep!"

"Raz—"

"GO!"

"But—"

"Don't make me pick you up and lock you out of the damn room!"

"Fine!"

Emmy threw the covers back and grumbled as she hopped out of bed, taking a moment to grab her pillow and whack Raz in the face on her way to the door. The reaper was still laughing when she entered the hallway and shut the door.

Her feet kept moving until she was in front of Mick's door when all her uncertainties and doubts came crashing down on her. What was she even doing here? He was more than likely asleep, not that he would want to see her anyway. She was sure that she had sufficiently pushed him away from anything other than strictly business. After all, it was she that ran away from him and froze him out, putting the final cherry on top by going to Ketch instead of him about Sam and Dean. Honestly, she didn't blame him, but either way, she should just go.

However, just as she was about to turn and walk away, the door swung open and a very surprised Mick met her gaze. Her breath instantly caught in her throat—he obviously hadn't been expecting company. The fact that he was clad in only a pair of grey cotton pajama pants and carrying an ice bucket told her that. Her eyes seemed to move of their own accord across his toned arms and chest which led down to a hint of a six-pack and a “V” at his pelvis.

"Uh…" she stammered, forcing her gaze back up to meet his. "I um…"

Why was she here again?

"Is everything alright?" he asked, concern filling his soft green eyes.

"Yeah, I uh…" she started. Words would have been really helpful. "I just...ya know what, I'm just gonna go."

"You don't have to," he said before she could make any move to leave, and she could have sworn she heard a little bit of hopefulness in his words. "I mean, if you wanted to talk."

Her head was nodding her answer before her brain could even compute his invite and he was stepping aside to let her in. There was only the light from one of the bedside lamps illuminating the room when he closed the door and moved to place the ice bucket on the table by the window. She watched him closely, but she still wasn't ready when he turned to face her and she couldn't handle the silence.

"Mick, I…" she started, her words trailing off. What did she even want to say? "I'm sorry for running out on you and then ghosting you. That's not how I wanted things to go."

"And I'm sorry for the way I treated you earlier," he said, walking closer to her. "It was uncalled for. Honestly, I really do understand. Sam and Dean mean a lot to you and they are not our biggest supporters."

"It's not just that," Emmy admitted, averting her gaze to the carpet and wrapping her arms around herself.

"Then what?" Mick asked softly.

Her gaze flitted up to meet his, her breath stilling for a moment when she realized he was right in front of her with barely a foot of space between them. A million lies came rushing to her mind, each one designed to keep the steel walls she had built around her heart firmly in place. Despite her knee-jerk reaction to keep her guard up, his pale green sapphire eyes were pulling her in and she found the truth tumbling from her lips before she could stop it.

"I started to feel something for you and it freaked me out," she told him. 

She prepared herself for rejection, but the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth had butterflies exploding in her stomach. He took a step forward, leaving only a few inches between them. She could feel his body heat now and she had to grip her shirt with her hands to keep herself from reaching out for him.

"I felt it, too," he said, his hand coming up to push her hair gently behind her ear, his fingers lingering just below it. 

The simple touch had her heart hammering in her chest and she could feel heat rushing to her cheeks.

"Do-do you still feel it?" she asked, her eyes locked with his.

"I do," he said, his thumb coming around to trace her bottom lip as he closed more of the distance between them. "Do you?"

There were mere centimetres between them now, their lips almost touching and his hand slid up to thread into her hair. Her head was spinning with the anticipation building between them, a band so tight it threatened to snap at any moment. However, there was still a slight hesitation and she suddenly realized why. He was giving her the chance to say no, to back away before they crossed a line there would be no coming back from.

"I do," she whispered, her arms breaking away from herself to rest one hand on his chest while the other came up to grip the back of his neck and pull his lips to hers.

A fire erupted between them, fueled by desire and the weeks of wanting to be exactly where they were now. Mick's free hand came up and settled on her hip and before she knew it, Emmy's back was connecting with the wall. She sighed happily into his kiss, their lips moving together in that effortless rhythm again. Tongues touched and teased while their hands roamed and their bodies pressed together. 

Her fingers raked into his hair, Mick's lips leaving hers to blaze a trail down her jawline all the way to her neck where he nipped at her sensitive skin.

"Mick!" Emmy moaned, her hips thrusting forward automatically. She could feel his growing erection between them and heat bloomed between her legs.

"Mmm," Mick hummed against her skin, rocking his hips forward to press his length into her again. His hands slipped under her shirt to skim up her sides. "Someone seems eager."

Emmy grinned, her hands coming down to frame his face and pull his lips back to hers. "Just for you, baby."

"Then I think you're a little overdressed for the occasion," he said.

Mick had her tank top up and off of her before she could respond, his deft fingers working on pulling her shorts down her hips before the other garment even touched the floor. She kicked out of them the moment they touched her ankles and Mick took a small step back to admire her in her black lace thong and bra.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" Mick asked breathlessly, his gaze coming up to meet hers.

Emmy could feel the blush flushing over her skin, reaching out to pull him back into her by his waist. His mouth was on her neck again, kissing and nipping his way down to her chest with one hand palming her breast, trailing over every part of her skin he could reach.

"Mick!" Emmy cried again. 

His ministrations already had enough slick pooling at her core to dampen her underwear and she was tired of the few pieces of clothing preventing them from being skin to skin. Her hands reached for the waist of Mick's pants, but his fingers were around her wrists and pinning them lightly to the wall on either side of Emmy's head before she could touch the fabric. She whimpered in protest and he smiled against the skin on her collarbone.

"Not yet, beautiful," Mick said, working his lips down to her cleavage. "I have plans for you just yet."

His accent, the timbre of his voice, the feel of his fingers trailing down her arms, and his lips mouthing at her breast through the fabric of her bra had Emmy panting and mewling. His teasing actions sent shivers through her body while simultaneously sending her into the stratosphere. His enjoyment was clear, taking his time to find every spot on her upper body that made her sigh in contentment and winding her up so tight she felt like she could come right then, and Mick hadn't even fully undressed her yet.

She was panting when his hands moved behind her back to unclasp her bra. Her arms lowered and he slowly pulled down the straps, dropping the garment to the floor and reveling in the reveal of her bare breasts. Another loud cry of pleasure flowed from her lips when he took one of her hard nipples into his mouth, her fingers threading into his hair while he lavished the taut bud with his tongue.

The way she pulled him closer, her body thrusting into his and the melody of sounds mingling with the desperate moans of his name spurred Mick on. It took every bit of restraint he had not to take her right there against the wall. He moved his mouth to her other breast, showing it the same attention he had the other while his hands traced down her body to her thighs.

With one fluid movement, he hoisted her up and guided her legs to wrap around his hips. He balanced her body between himself and the wall, placing his now rock hard erection against her sex. Even through his pants and her thong he could feel her warmth and the wetness seeping through. With slow rolls of his hips, he thrust his covered cock against her, hitting a spot that made her throw her head back and cry out.

"Fuck! Mick! Please!"

She needed him now! The feel of his sizable length pressing against her clit at such an agonizingly slow rate was almost maddening. The friction sending her so close to that edge all she could do was cling to him.

The growl that rumbled from his chest was almost feral, her cries and the movement of her body almost making him forget why he was taking his time. Taking his mouth from her breasts, he pressed their lips together, instantly delving his tongue into her mouth and tangling it with hers. He needed her completely bare to him, needed to taste her.

His hands supported her weight under her ass, pulling her closer against him and turning to carry her to the bed. Their lips never parted on the way there, their tongues dancing together and exploring each other like it was the only chance they would ever get.

There was a wildfire of desire in Mick's lust-blown eyes that met Emmy's when he broke their kiss to lay her gently down on the mattress. It was also a look filled with promises of what was to come that took her breath away, but there was an undercurrent of something more that she couldn't quite place and it sent her heart fluttering in her chest.

"You're so beautiful," Mick purred, crawling over her and settling his hips between her legs.

"You're pretty breathtaking yourself," she cooed. A soft moan fell from her lips when he bit down firmly on her neck, and she gripped his shoulders. "Oh, Mick!"

"Love hearing you moan my name," he said against her skin, his lips starting their slow descent down her body.

He trailed hot open mouth kisses mingled with teeth and tongue down to her breasts where he stopped to show each ample swell his undivided attention. Her back arched into him and her fingers grasped into his hair, her loud keening and the cries of his name making his cock twitch in his pants. She was writhing beneath him, begging him to touch her where she needed him most by the time his lips reached her hips.

"Almost there, beautiful," he promised, taking the time to place a kiss on an anti-possession tattoo on the inside of her right hip bone as he hooked his fingers into either side of her underwear.

Emmy's eyes locked with Mick's, watching him slowly pull down the lace fabric past her hips and down her legs. He threw the underwear over his shoulder and lowered himself between her thighs, taking his time to kiss up one leg and then the other. Finally, his gaze still locked with hers, his tongue flicked out to lightly trace her folds.

"OH, FUCK! MICK!" she shouted, her hands twisting desperately in the sheets when his tongue probed at her entrance.

A loud string of obscenities and praise fell from Emmy's lips, mixing in with cries of Mick's name and creating a cadence that was music to his ears. Her hips bucked into his face, her legs shaking, hands in his hair, her slick flowing freely while he devoured her like a man starved. His lips finally closed over her clit, sucking at the small nexus of nerves, swirling and flicking his tongue on it. His facial hair scraped exquisitely against her thighs that he had placed over his shoulders.

"FUCK! YES! YES! MICK! PLEASE DON'T STOP!!!" Emmy shouted, throwing her head back against the mattress. The coil in her stomach was winding tightly and her body writhed for him. "Fuck!! Oh my God!!! You're so fucking  _ good _ at that!"

More shouts and screams of ecstasy flew from her as Mick pushed two fingers inside her entrance, hooking them in a come hither motion and pumping them in and out. He had to splay his free hand over her lower stomach to keep her in place.

"FUCK!! MICK, DON'T STOP!! PLEASE DON'T STOP!! I'M GONNA—" The coil in her stomach snapped and stars erupted in her vision, the world inking at the edges. She had never come so hard—or loud—in her life. "MIIIIICK!!! OH FUCK MIIIICK!!! YESSS!!! YESS! MICK!!!"

He continued his ministrations, working her through her orgasm and prolonging it as far as he could until she was jerking away from over-sensitivity. She was breathing heavily, her head still swimming with the glow of her release when he crawled back up her body to kiss her lips. Emmy could still taste herself on his tongue and it sparked back her arousal instantaneously.

"You taste positively divine," Mick said, his lips moving down to her neck.

Emmy grinned impishly, planting her hands on his shoulders and using her body to flip him to his back. He looked up at her while she straddled his hips with a desire-filled smirk that had her inner walls clenching around nothing.

"My turn to rile you up," she purred, slowly grinding her hips down on his erection.

"Fuck! Emmy!" Mick growled, meeting her action with a roll of his own hips. His hands gripped at her thighs, fighting the urge to flip her back over and pound into her.

His hands skimmed up and down her body, memorizing each dip and curve with his fingers as she bent over him. Her lips found his for a brief moment before her kisses started to trail along his jawline, her tongue coming out to flick at his ear lobe before she took it between her lips and teeth. Her hips rocked slowly against his while she made her way down to his chest, delighting in the blissful noises and sighs of her name she was pulling from him.

There was no getting enough of her, his hands seeking out every inch of her skin he could touch while she lavished her attentions on his pecks and nipples. She moved as slowly as he had on her, exploring his body and finding the places that made him gasp and tighten his grip on her. He was panting, breathless with desire, when her lips reached the waistband of his pants. Her eyes locked with his, licking her lips while she pulled them over his hips and off of his body, throwing them somewhere in the room with the rest of their discarded clothing.

Her grin was almost predatory while she crawled back up to hover over his hard cock standing at attention for her. It was long and thick with precum beading at the tip, just begging to be licked and fucked. The thought of it deep inside her caused an unintended moan to escape her when she wrapped her hand around the base and her lips around the swollen head.

"Oh god!" Mick sighed, his hands flying down to hold her hair back and watch as his member slid into the wet heat of her mouth. "Fuck! That feels amazing, Emmy!"

Her tongue swirled over the head, dipping into the slit before she hallowed her cheeks and bobbed up and down. One hand pumped what she couldn't touch with her mouth while the other massaged his heavy balls. Mick fought the urge to thrust into her mouth, the magic she was working with her tongue sending jolt after magnificent jolt of mind-boggling pleasure throughout his whole body. She alternated between sucking and licking his cock, finding sensitive spots that no one ever had before. He groaned and grunted, calling out her name over and over until she had pushed him to the point where he was about to explode.

"Emmy! You gotta—FUCK!" Her mouth closed over the head again, her tongue flicking at the underside of the tip. "Baby, I'm gonna lose it if you don't stop!"

He could feel her grin even with her mouth still around his cock as she pulled off of him with a lewd pop.

"I fail to see the problem with that," she replied sweetly. "I wouldn't mind having you come down my throat."

A breathy chuckle rushed out of him and a grin pulled at his lips when he pushed himself to sit, guiding her to sit on her knees between his legs. His hands came up to caress and frame her face, pulling her into a soft kiss.

"Believe me," he started, his hands dropping to her hips so he could pepper kisses along her cheek and down to her neck. "I would love that, but there's only one place I want to do that this time."

"Yeah," she sighed contentedly, tilting her head to one side for him while she loosely circled her arms around his neck. "And where's that?"

A yelp of surprise sprung from her lips when his hands slid under her thighs, lifting her and separating her legs to settle over his lap. His strength shocked her, but the gentleness in his touch as he guided her over his cock and slowly thrust into her had her melting against him. He was hard enough to break concrete and the delicious stretch and burn of her inner walls as she adjusted to his length and girth had her crying out for him with her face in the crook of his neck.

"Mick!"

"Emmy!"

Their cries of bliss mingled together to create a cadence in the symphony their sounds of pleasure created.

"You're so fucking tight," he growled, rocking his hips into her.

She met his movements, thrust for thrust. The coil of release was already starting to build in her again, the position of her body allowing him to graze her clit and hit that sweet spot deep inside her with every roll of his hips. It was slow and sensual, both drinking in as much of the other as they could. 

Her head raised to brush her lips against his and press their foreheads together. His hands gripped at her hips, guiding his thrusts into a steady rhythm.

"Mick!" she gasped. "Oh God, Mick! I'm so close!"

A grin pulled at his mouth and he captured her lips with his, lifting and thrusting her down hard one last time on his throbbing cock. He swallowed down the first of her screams of ecstasy with his kiss until she threw her head back, screaming his name while he worked her through her orgasm. 

"YES! OH, FUCK! MICK!!" she screamed, her body shaking with her release. "OH MICK YOU FEEL SO FUCKING GOOD!!"

All Mick could do was grunt in response, the clenching of her walls gripping onto his cock like a vice and almost sending him over the edge right along with her. When he was sure she was starting to come down from her euphoric high, his arm tightened around her waist and he flipped with her. Her back was now on the mattress with him on his knees between her legs, his hard length still buried deep inside her.

"Think you got one more in you?" he asked, a sly smirk on his face while he placed her legs over his shoulders.

"What?!" No one had ever taken the time to get to know her body so intimately and managed to get her off more than once. Twice was unheard of, but three— "MICK!!!!"

Her thought process was shattered when he slammed home inside her. Within seconds he had set a brutal pace that made her lose the ability for coherent thought. Screams and moans accented with cries of their names and the sound of skin on skin filled the room.

"That's right, baby!" Mick groaned. "Sing for me!"

Her hands twisted in the blankets, trying to hang on as he pounded into her. His cock was dragging over every sensitive spot inside her, his thumb now on her clit and rubbing furious circles over the swollen bundle of nerves. She was so close. She could feel it, and judging by the way his thrusts were starting to become erratic, so was he.

"Harder, Mick!" she gasped. "Fuck me harder, baby!!"

He could feel her velvet walls starting to spasm around his shaft and the scream of his name that flew from her lips when he started to slam into her with everything he had had him barely hanging on.

"Come for me, beautiful!" Mick grunted. "Come undone on my cock again!!"

His words were the final push she needed, and her orgasm came crashing down, once again seeing stars. The clench and spasming of her core around his member sent him careening over that edge right along with her. They both screamed the other's names along with words of praise as he led the way through their blissful high until they were both gasping for breath.

Gently he pulled out of her, guiding her legs back to the bed before he collapsed on his side next to her and pulled her into his arms so they could bask in their afterglow together.

"That was incredible," Emmy said, snuggling into his chest. " _ You're  _ incredible."

"My sentiments exactly, Luv," he said, placing a kiss on her forehead with a sated smile on his face.

"So," Emmy started, her earlier conversation with Raz floating back into her mind. "When do you have to head back to Kansas?"

"I have another meeting with a hunter tomorrow evening near the Colorado and Kansas state line. I'll have to start back then," he explained. "But...I would love to spend the time before that with you."

A smile crossed Emmy's lips, craning her head to kiss Mick's lips softly. "I would like that. How's the recruiting going, by the way?"

"Not well," he said honestly. "American hunters are proving difficult to convince."

Emmy nodded, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. "What if...what if Raz and I come back to the compound with you?"

Confusion furrowed Mick's brow, looking down at her while he computed and contemplated her words. "What exactly are you saying, Emmy?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm saying...we want to work with you. You guys are making a difference and we wanna help with that."

"Bloody hell!" Mick said, a wide grin splitting his face. "Was the sex  _ that _ good? Maybe I should rethink my recruitment strategy."

"You better not!" she laughed, swatting at his chest playfully. Then she realized what her words could mean and her face flushed. "I mean, uh…"

His hand came up to card affectionately through her hair, kissing her gently. "You're the only one I wanna be with, beautiful."

"Really?"

"I thought we went over having feelings for each other?" he asked with a small chuckle. "I've wanted you since the first time I saw you get out of your car, wanted to  _ be _ with you since that night we went to dinner."

"But…" Emmy started, hesitation in her voice. "I thought you weren't allowed to be with a hunter with your rank."

"Allow? What?" Mick's face scrunched with perplexity as he peered at her. "What on Earth gave you that idea?"

"Ketch told me that the elders wouldn't approve of you being with a hunter because of your rank within the Men of Letters. You even said yourself that they were sticklers for that sort of thing."

"What? No! That's not—dammit, Ketch!" Mick started, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he sighed deeply. "Ketch was just being a bloody wanker for some reason." His arm dropped to wrap around her waist and pull her closer to him. "All I meant when I said that was that they want to make sure our jobs and responsibilities are taken care of and we don't divulge information we aren't supposed to. They don't tell us who we can and can't be in a relationship with."

"So...this can happen?"

"If you want it to."

"I really do," Emmy said, snaking her arm under his to wind around Mick's midsection and capture his lips with hers.

"We do still need to talk about what you just said though," Mick said after a few lazy kisses. "Are you and Raz sure you want to do this? I don't want you to make a decision you aren't comfortable with."

"We're sure," Emmy assured him. "We talked about it after you left our room. We want to do this, Mick."

"You have no idea how happy that makes me," Mick said, a wide grin spreading across his face. "I can't wait to show you everything. But first...sleep. We both need some rest after the last—I don't even know how many hours. I may also be really looking forward to falling asleep with you in my arms and waking up next to you."

Emmy's smile matched his as she pressed her lips to his once more. "I'm looking forward to that, too."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Very slight smut in the beginning, violence, blood, and a little gore

"MICK!!!"

Emmy's cry as she tumbled over the edge into a blissful ecstasy of release sent Mick falling right along after her.

"EMMY!!"

The new couple had slept tangled up in each other's arms and upon waking shared sweet kisses that swiftly turned passionate and filled with desire. It hadn't taken much more until Mick was pounding into her again with her legs locked around his hips.

It was still a little hard for Mick to believe that they were here, their feelings out in the open, locked in a lover's embrace and venturing into the uncharted territory of a relationship. It had been years since he had even entertained the option, and he was sure the same was true with her. Yet, there was something about her that pulled him in effortlessly and shattered any resistance he had for the construct. He wanted her—wholly and completely—and suddenly he had her, and he already knew he would do anything to keep her.

Mick collapsed on the bed next to Emmy, automatically pulling her close to rest her head on his chest and kiss the top of her head.

"Ya know," she started, still a little breathless. "I'm usually not a morning person, but with a wake-up call like that…"

"I agree," Mick said with a small chuckle, glancing over at the clock sitting on the bedside table. "It's also noon."

"We earned sleeping-in dammit!" Emmy responded, nuzzling into him.

He laughed again, the buzz of his cell phone that was also on the bedside table pulling his attention before he could respond. He grabbed the device, clicking it on to find missed calls and text messages from Raz, Ketch, and Serena. He clicked on Ketch's message first.

_ Loose ends tied. No complications. Pictures to you once you reach the state line. _

Then Serena's.

_ Ms. Turner's vehicle has been sent for repair per your request. Will send details as I receive them. _

After clearing both texts, he opened Raz's two messages and a bout of laughter fell from his lips.

_ Are you two done yet? I'm bored. _

_ Seriously, it's almost noon!  _

"What's funny?" Emmy asked.

He showed her the screen on his phone and Emmy rolled her eyes, taking the device to type out a reply to the reaper.

_ Don't be a hater.  _

Emmy handed the cell back to Mick and reluctantly rose to sit. "We should get dressed, he'll be knocking on the door soon."

Once they were dressed—Mick in his normal suit attire and Emmy in her shorts and tank top from the night before—there was a knock on the door just as she had predicted. Emmy opened the door to find Raz with a huge Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face and carrying her green duffle bag.

"Shut up, Raz," Emmy hissed, moving aside to let the reaper in and closing the door.

"I didn't say a word," Raz shot back playfully.

"You didn't have to. The shit-eating grin on your face is as loud as a foghorn."

"I'm sure you were louder last night...and this morning apparently."

"I  _ will _ shoot you."

"No you won't. You love me too much."

"Whatever," Emmy grumbled, grabbing her duffel and heading off to the bathroom to change.

Mick chuckled from his spot on the couch, watching the two longtime friends interact. Their lighthearted banter had been something he had yet to experience and it spoke volumes to him on just how close the two were and what it meant for them to let their guard down like that around him.

"You two bicker like siblings," Mick stated as Raz turned his attention to him.

"Yeah," Raz chuckled, coming to sit in the armchair closest to Mick. "That happens when you spend as much time together as we do."

"So," Mick started, noting the tensing of the reaper's posture. He obviously already knew where the conversation was going. "Emmy tells me you two have decided to join us."

"We have," Raz nodded slowly, choosing his next words carefully. "Listen, Mick, I'm all for helping with this pipe dream of a world without monsters because it's what Emmy wants, but let me be clear about a few things."

Mick nodded, urging the reaper to continue.

"I don't trust the British Men of Letters," Raz stated plainly. "But I trust you, as does Emmy. I trust Ketch even less than I do the whole organization, and you should be the same way. And last, I'll fight by your side in this whole thing, but if push comes to shove, my loyalty is to Emmy."

"I honestly wouldn't expect any less," Mick said. The reaper's words about Ketch struck deep with him this time. It was the second time Raz had mentioned that Mick shouldn't trust the other Man of Letters, and he couldn't help but wonder if the reaper knew something he didn't. "I do need to ask what is giving you pause about Ketch."

An emotion that Mick couldn't pinpoint passed over Raz's features before he spoke.

"I just get a bad vibe from him," Raz stated simply. "So what's the deal with you and Emmy? Was this just a one time get your rocks off deal or what?"

The drastic change in topic left Mick's brain reeling with his mouth hanging slightly agape, but Raz waited patiently while he quickly recovered.

"No," Mick said, clearing his throat. "It's much more than that."

"Good," Raz said, a smile returning to his face. "You hurt her and I'll break you in half."

"I won't," Mick replied without missing a beat.

The conversation abruptly ended when Emmy exited the bathroom wearing a pastel purple sweater that clung temptingly to her curves and a pair of tight, dark wash, low-rise blue jeans. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the looks on their faces.

"What are you two talking about?" she asked, looking back and forth between them.

"Nothing important," Raz said before Mick could answer, standing and crossing the room to hand Emmy her cell phone that had been in his pocket. "You need to call Mary and the boys."

"Have they been calling?" she asked, cringing when she turned on the screen. "I guess so. Have you talked to them?" Her gaze shifted up to the reaper.

"Yeah," Raz said, annoyance heavy in his tone. "I talked to Sam this morning. It was exactly what we thought. They made a deal with Billie to help get them out of that place, but come midnight a Winchester had to die. Cas killed Billie before that could happen."

"That's going to come back to haunt them," Mick interjected, turning attention to him. "Did you tell them what happened to you or that this Billie is the new Death?"

"Ha! No!" Raz said. "If I told them that, I would have had to tell them about you, and none of us had discussed what we were letting everyone in on."

"What  _ did _ you tell them?" Emmy asked.

"That we're both fine, but we hit black ice and got in a wreck," Raz started to explain. "Told them that we had a ride set up to get back to my truck this evening. Oh, and...Mary was asking questions about you suddenly needing to be healed yesterday. So, I told Sam to fill in the blanks of what you already told her."

"I guess I should call Mary first then," Emmy sighed heavily.

"What are you gonna tell her?" Raz asked, looking in Mick's direction. "No offense, but none of them are going to be thrilled we're working with you, and Dean might actually shoot you when he finds out about you and Emmy."

"I actually understand that completely," Mick said, standing from his seat. "Just tell them what you think they can handle and we'll work them in slowly."

"Why do you guys think I'm calling Mary first?" Emmy asked rhetorically. "She and I got pretty close while Sam and Dean were gone. She'll at least hear me out."

"Alright," Raz said, not totally convinced while he plopped down to sit on the corner of the bed.

Emmy's gaze met Mick's and it took him a second to realize she was silently asking if he was OK with telling the Winchester matriarch what was going on. He finally nodded and Emmy dialed Mary's phone number, holding her phone to her ear.

"Hey Mar—" Emmy jumped suddenly. Mary's muffled angry voice sounded on the other end of the line. "Yes, he's with me...OK." She lowered the phone and placed it on speaker. "Raz can hear you."

The reaper's brow shot up in something Mick could almost translate to fear and he bit back a small chuckle.

"I'm not even going to touch on the two of you not telling me Raz is a damn ex reaper," Mary said angrily. "But after all the hell we just went through with Sam and Dean...if something like you getting in a damn wreck happens, you better damn well call someone! We would have come back to get you!"

"Yes ma'am," Raz said quickly.

"Yeah," Emmy agreed.

"Good," Mary said sternly. "Now, you wanna tell me what really happened last night or are we going to keep pretending you two  _ just _ got in a car accident? I've seen Emmy drive; it's gonna take a lot more than some black ice to make her lose control."

A collective deep breath went through the trio surrounding the phone before Emmy started to explain what had really happened the night before, all the way up to Mick getting Raz and Emmy a room in the same hotel they had used to track Sam and Dean in. 

"Is that it?" Mary asked once Emmy was done, her tone neutral and calm.

"Not exactly," Emmy admitted. "Raz and I...we've decided to work with the British Men of Letters."

"Is Mick still there?" Mary asked.

"Yeah," Emmy said, her voice a little higher as she met Mick's gaze. "He's actually right here. I spent the night with him last night."

"Hello, Mary," Mick finally said.

There was a slight pause and a shuffle on Mary's side of the connection. For a second Mick was worried about what her reaction would be and what impact it would have.

"I think you and I should have a conversation, Mick," Mary said. "Where could we meet?"

Mick's gaze shot between Raz and Emmy, finding the same questioning look he was sure was on his own face.

"Um…" Mick started. "I can come to wherever you are, Mary. What did you need to discuss?"

"Joining you," Mary stated simply. "I also think we may need to hold off on telling Sam and Dean. Just until we're sure it's going to work out."

Raz and Emmy looked to each other, sharing another one of those glances that held a whole conversation. Only this time before they answered, their gaze turned to Mick, waiting for his unspoken opinion. After a moment, he nodded. What was one more secret to be kept on top of what he had already consented to?

"Agreed," Emmy said to Mary.

* * *

"This seems unfair," Raz grumbled from the tiny backseat of Mick's rental car, his long legs practically folded up under his chin.

It had been a few hours since their conversation with Mary, and they were now on their way to where Raz's truck was still parked at the Colorado state line. The plan was for Mick to drop the reaper and Emmy off, go meet his hopeful recruitment, and then meet back up in Lebanon so the two could follow Mick to the British Men of Letters' temporary compound in Salina.

"You know the rule, Raz," Emmy replied, her eyes glued to Mick's laptop in her lap while she read through the documents he had opened for her. "You're the one who came up with it. It's only fair you abide by it."

" _ It's only fair you abide by it, _ " Raz repeated mockingly, shifting to spread his legs along the seat. "You're like three-foot tall,  _ Shortcake _ ! You can fit in ungodly small backseats. My tall ass can't!"

"I'm five-three, asshole!" Emmy snapped, whipping her head around to glare at the reaper. "And rules are rules."

Raz stuck his tongue out at Emmy and Mick finally lost it.

"What rule are you two going on about?" Mick asked through his laughter.

"Tell the man  _ your _ rule, Raz," Emmy said, a small triumphant smile coming to her lips as she turned back to the computer in her lap. She could feel the reaper's glare on her and it took great effort not to laugh.

"Fucks or significant others get shotgun," Raz growled. "To be fair, when I instituted that rule you had sworn off men."

Emmy chuckled softly, clicking into another document on Mick's computer entitled " _ Project V _ ." When she did, a map of the Midwest Region of the United States opened with pinpoints of numbers scattered over twelve states. Reading further down the page, she discovered that the numbers represented the remaining active vampires over the area. When the project started there were two hundred and forty-one of the creatures—now there were one hundred and nineteen. Her eyes went wide; they had cleared out over half in less than two months.

"Holy shit!" Emmy whispered, reading further into the file.

There was a meticulous layout of which operatives were supposed to be when and where, as well as about how long it would take them to clear out the nest they had been assigned. Emmy felt Raz lean forward and peer over her shoulder, a rush of air coming from his lips when he had taken in the information in front of him.

"Whoa," Raz breathed.

"Which one are you looking at?" Mick asked, his eyes focused on the road.

"Project V," Emmy told him.

"Yes," Mick said proudly. "That one is coming along nicely. Should be done with phase one in maybe another month or so. Then we move on to the rest of the country."

Raz and Emmy both turned wide eyes to the man behind the wheel.

"Wait," Emmy said slowly. "You're planning on wiping out every bloodsucker in America? What about the ones that aren't hurting anybody?"

Mick's brow furrowed with confusion when he glanced over to her. "They're all a threat."

The phone in Mick's inside suit jacket pocket abruptly cut off the conversation and Mick pulled it out to accept the call.

"Hello, Pierce," Mick said into the device and paused for the man on the other end to speak.

A contemplative expression took over Emmy's face, and she turned to see the same one on Raz's. They had both heard of a hunter named Pierce and they weren't rave reviews. Emmy could recall their friend Rufus telling them of the  _ one _ time he worked with the hunter and how the man had almost got him killed.

"I'm still a bit under two hours from Sharon Springs," Mick said into the receiver. "Are you sure you want to meet there? It'll be close to dark when I arrive."

Warning bells blared to life in Emmy's head, and from the look Raz shot her way, it was the same for the reaper.

"Alright," Mick said. "See you then."

The British Man of Letters ended the call and placed his phone back in the pocket he had gotten it from.

"Your possible recruitment?" Raz asked.

"Yes," Mick confirmed, his eyes back on the road. "Pierce Moncrieff."

Emmy and Raz both cringed just as Mick glanced at them. 

"What?" he asked. "You know him?"

"More like  _ of _ him," Raz scoffed.

"You know he calls himself the 'Hunter King of Baton Rouge?" Emmy asked.

"I do, unfortunately," Mick sighed, his expression finally showing some of the reservation Emmy was feeling over the situation. At least he wasn't blind to the lack of skill.

"Mick, buddy," Raz started. "Have you ever heard the expression: 'I'd rather have four quarters than a hundred pennies?' We had a friend work with the guy a few years back.  _ Once _ . Never again."

"Believe me, you two," Mick said earnestly. "I get it. However, not counting the two of you and hopefully Mary, we haven't exactly attracted the top shelf of American hunters. We're scraping the barrel so to speak, but I have my orders."

"Where are you meeting him?" Emmy asked.

"A small park in Sharon Springs."

To say she didn't like the idea of Mick meeting this poor excuse for a hunter alone would have been putting it mildly. If Pierce had been on a hunt in Sharon Springs, Emmy was pretty sure he’d either botched the job or just not completed it at all. The man could very well have pissed whatever he was hunting off and was now being tailed. Mick could possibly be walking into a deadly situation.

Emmy glanced back at Raz, seeing the same thoughts running through his mind. He simply nodded and she turned back to Mick.

"Yeah," Emmy started slowly. "We're going with you to meet Pierce. We don't trust the guy or his skills."

"I'm not helpless," Mick said with a chuckle, but Emmy could detect a slight hint of him being offended.

"Mick," Emmy started, placing her hand on the one he had resting on the center console. "I didn't say you were, babe. Raz and I just don't trust this situation, and we would both feel better knowing you had some back up if things go sideways."

An internal sigh of relief escaped Emmy when she felt Mick relax under her touch. His hand turned to lace his fingers with hers.

"I'll be fine," Mick assured her, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "But if you both want to be there, I'm fine with it."

"Then it's settled," Emmy said with a smile as Mick brought their intertwined hands back to rest on the center console. "We'll pick up Raz's truck and he'll follow us to Sharon Springs."

* * *

"Seriously, babe, how is this not sketchy to you?" Emmy asked, looking down at Mick's phone in her right hand.

After dropping Raz at his truck, the trio immediately set out for Sharon Springs, Kansas. As they got closer, Emmy had pulled up the exact location for Mick's meeting with Pierce on his phone's GPS. They were headed for a small park that had been closed down a few years prior and was located on the outskirts of the town. The pictures she had pulled from online showed a run-down playground with broken equipment, a few tattered wooden picnic tables, and a dense line of trees surrounding the area.

"I never said it wasn't," Mick responded, coming to a stop at a red traffic light. "I'm just used to it by now. It's not even the most concerning location I've met a hunter at. Last week I met a man at a cemetery while he burned a body."

Mick glanced over to find Emmy looking at him with a furrowed brow and slight anger in her eyes. He knew her anxiousness over the meeting had been mounting since they crossed the Kansas line, but the ire now looking back at him was new.

"Who did that to you?" she demanded, a protective flair deeply embedded in her tone.

"That's not important, beautiful," Mick said, reaching over to intertwine his hand with her free one. "It's not like I go into these things unprepared. We pride ourselves on being ready for anything. The only hunters I approached for the first time unarmed were the Winchesters and your friend James."

Her expression softened slightly as the light turned green and Mick focused back on the road, keeping his hand in hers.

"It's not the hunter I'm worried about this time," Emmy admitted. "Pierce almost got Rufus killed because he lost count of how many werewolves he was supposed to take down, and it wasn't even that big of a number. He told Rufus he got them all. The two he left behind tracked them back to their room and attacked. How Pierce is even still alive himself absolutely boggles me."

"Believe me," Mick started. "We are well aware of his shortcomings. Personally, I would just as well let this one slip under the radar, but my orders are to make contact and try to recruit as many of the American hunters as possible. The old men believe it's essential to our cause."

"Even if it gets you killed?" Emmy asked. "Call me selfish if you want, but I  _ just _ got you. I'd rather not lose you anytime soon."

A wide grin split Mick's face at her words, his heart swelling a bit.

"I'm not going anywhere, Luv," he assured her, bringing her hand up to kiss her knuckles. "I promise, I'm as careful as I can possibly be. If it looks like I might need back up I take some. Ketch is even close by tonight."

"Yeah," Emmy scoffed as Mick brought their joined hands to rest on the center console once more. "Because there's a well-adjusted individual."

"He's one of the best at what he does though."

"Didn't say he wasn't, but I can't stand him and Raz has this deep-seated mistrust of the man. I've learned to trust his intuition."

"Yeah, he mentioned that," Mick said slowly. 

Something at the back of Mick's mind had been gnawing at him since he had spoken to the reaper about Ketch back at the hotel. What exactly had Raz seen or sensed from the other British Man of Letters that had caused such fierce suspicion? He could feel another conversation with the reaper on the horizon and he could only hope that this time, Raz would tell him the truth.

* * *

Emmy cringed when Mick pulled into a parking spot at the closed park, Raz taking the space next to them. The state of the area looked even worse at night and with the low lying fog starting to creep in, the scene felt like something right out of a horror movie. There were only two street lights eerily illuminating the space, one over where their vehicles sat and another over a cluster of beat-up picnic tables. Her instincts flared to life, putting her on high alert. 

"I really don't like this," she mumbled, looking over to Mick.

He was typing out something on his phone, briefly glancing up at her words. "I'm not sure if it makes things better or worse, but Ketch is on his way."

She wasn't entirely sure if Mick calling in the attack dog was because of her reservations or if he was now questioning things as much as she was. Either way, Emmy was glad Ketch was close. A thought that almost made her shudder.

A nod was the only response Emmy gave him before Mick reached over to open the glove compartment in front of her, pulling out a black and chrome H&K P7 handgun. He stowed the weapon in the back waistband of his slacks and together they exited the vehicle.

Raz was already standing in front of his driver's side door when the couple got out and he moved with them to the trunk of Mick's rental to retrieve Emmy's Glock 19 and the reaper's CZ 75. Both of them placed their guns in the same position Mick had as the British Man of Letters shut the trunk and handed Emmy the keys, which she quickly stuck into her pocket.

"This place gives me the heebee geebees, dude," Raz commented, looking around the area. "We've been to literal haunted houses that were less creepy than this fucking place."

"Yes, well, hopefully it doesn't take long," Mick said. "Oh, and by the way, Ketch will be here soon. If anyone asks, the two of you met back up with the Winchesters last night and Castiel healed you after the accident."

Emmy knew the confusion now painted all over Raz's face matched her own because Mick quickly started to explain himself.

"There was no way a normal human was walking away from that mangle of metal last night," he said. "I had to have my team clean up the site. So, I had to tell them something. Better if we're all on the same page about it, hmm?"

It had never crossed Emmy's mind that Mick  _ wouldn't  _ keep the secret that she and Raz had confided in him, but the confirmation meant more than she was expecting. Judging from the appreciative look on the reaper's face, he was feeling much the same.

"Thanks, man," Raz said with a smile.

"Yes," Emmy agreed, moving close to Mick and standing on her tiptoes to place a quick kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, babe."

The smile that lit up his soft green eyes took Emmy's breath away just like it always did. He reached out to lightly squeeze her hand, the warmth of the happy feeling the simple contact caused spreading throughout her whole body. It was almost comical to her that Mick could still have this effect on her even with the cheap horror movie-esque backdrop behind them. 

"On that note," Raz said, breaking through the couple's moment with a roll of his eyes. "I'm going to go do a perimeter check before you two start makin' out."

He didn't wait for a response, turning to go back to his car door and pull a machete from inside before heading off into the tree line.

It wasn't much longer and an old and loud Pinto pulled into the parking area, the vehicle coming to a stop on the other side of Mick's. Pierce Moncrieff—a tall, stocky man with dirty brown hair and dark mocha eyes—quickly exited and came around to greet Mick with a huge friendly smile on his face.

"Relax, Luv," Mick whispered only loud enough for Emmy to hear.

She forced a smile onto her face, feeling the light touch of Mick's fingertips caress down her forearm before he stepped forward to shake Pierce's hand. 

"So glad you could meet us, Mr. Moncrieff," Mick said, his professional charm starting to flow.

"Nah!" Pierce said, the handshake ending. "It's just Pierce." His gaze rolled over to Emmy. "Damn, you look familiar."

Emmy just continued to smile, letting Mick take the lead like he was obviously prepared to do. He took a step back, placing his hand on the small of her back to gently guide her forward.

"Allow me to make an introduction," Mick said, that bureaucratic smile plastered firmly on his lips. "Pierce, meet Emmeline Turner, top-shelf hunter and the British Men of Letters' newest recruit."

"Emmy!" Pierce exclaimed, his face lighting up with recognition. He rushed forward, grabbing her hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "It's damn good to meet ya! Rufus sure did talk highly of you and your friend Raz. He and I worked a case together down in the Atchafalaya once. Sure do miss that sumbitch."

"Yeah," Emmy said with as much politeness as she could muster, pulling her hand from Pierce's grasp. "We miss him, too."

"When did you start working with the Brits?" Pierce asked. 

Emmy's eyes flicked over to Mick, silently imploring him to take back control of the conversation. He took the hint smoothly, clapping a hand on Pierce's shoulder to pull the man's attention.

"It's actually a rather new development," Mick said, slowly leading the other hunter towards the open area of the park. "Let's talk about you though."

Emmy moved to perch on the hood of Mick's car, folding her arms over her chest while she watched the British Man of Letters guide Pierce under the only other light in the area. She suppressed a small chuckle, hearing Mick launch into his "World Without Monsters" speech. She really needed to help him come up with a different sales pitch.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly; Mick was halfway through his speech to Pierce and the hunter did seem somewhat interested in what he had to say. Though, Emmy wasn't entirely sure how much of a good thing that was. The thought of working with Pierce made her internally cringe.

It wasn't until she noticed movement in the treeline just over Mick's shoulder that her instincts started to scream in her head again. Something told her that it wasn't Raz just watching from afar. Pierce didn't seem to notice it, which really didn't surprise her, but she wasn't going to let that change her mind. Emmy could feel Mick's eyes on her, watching as she made her way to the foliage and started to walk along it.

"Everything all right?" Pierce asked and Emmy didn't miss the barely-there hint of nerves coming through in his words.

Another rustle in the trees and Emmy's eyes flew to Mick's. He had heard that one, too. The couple drew their guns simultaneously, cocking the weapons and holding them at the ready.

"Pierce," Mick started, his voice low as he quickly moved to stand with Emmy. "Were you hunting anything before you met us tonight?"

"Uh, no," Pierce replied, almost too quickly.

It didn't go unnoticed that the other hunter didn't draw a gun and was currently slowly backing up towards the vehicles like he was going to turn tail and run. However, there wasn't time to dwell on it. A hissing and snarling vampire was suddenly rocketing out of the woods. Its mouthful of teeth bared and dripping with saliva as it tackled Emmy to the ground, trying to snap at her neck.

A single gunshot rang through the night, the bullet colliding with the hungry bloodsucker’s shoulder. The monster growled angrily, looking up just in time for Emmy to see Mick spearing the vampire in the side with his own body in order to get it off of her and allow her to scramble to her feet. What the hell was he doing?!

In the next instant, Raz and Ketch emerged from the tree line fighting vampires of their own, each of them trying to swing blood-covered machetes on the monsters trying to rip their throats out.

"Emmeline!" Ketch shouted.

She spun towards her name and the British Man of Letters tossed a weapon that registered as the vampire irradiator that Ketch had shown her and the Winchesters a couple of months prior. Emmy caught the gun easily, instantly putting her finger on the trigger and turning to take aim at the monster that Mick now had pinned to the ground.

"Just point and shoot, Emmeline!" Ketch shouted. "It won't hurt Mick!"

Emmy quickly did as she was told, aiming and squeezing the trigger. A loud hum emitted from the device in her hands, the sound quickly increasing until she could see the air vibrating around it. The vampire suddenly froze, a feral scream ripping from its lips just as Mick jumped off. The creature started to claw at its own skin and Mick's arm was suddenly around her waist.

"You're going to want to move, Luv," he said quickly, pulling her to the side just as Ketch and Raz landed fatal blows to their own bloodsuckers.

The two heads dropped to the ground with wet thuds and the vampire on the ground screaming in agony burst into a spray of blood and body parts. Emmy stared at the puddle of blood and goo.

"The hell is that thing and where the hell can I get one?!" Raz asked, his gaze locked on the weapon in Emmy's hand.

"It's an irradiator," Mick said quickly, his arm still firmly around Emmy's waist and holding her close to him. "Are there any more of those bastards out there?"

"Not that we could find," Ketch replied. "But I still don't think we should doddle and find out."

"Damn."

Pierce's reaction had every one of their heads turning in the hunter's direction. Emmy had almost forgotten he was there once Mick tackled a hungry vampire with nothing but his bare hands and a gun. With a quick glance at her companions, it was clear to her that they had temporarily pushed the man from their minds as well.

It was Mick that came to his senses first, reluctantly releasing Emmy and approaching Pierce. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Y-yeah," Pierce stammered. "I'm good, but, uh...I think I'm gonna have to think on that offer."

Mick didn't even try to stop the man when he turned, tail firmly tucked between his legs, and scurried to his Pinto. None of them spoke until Pierce had pulled out of the parking lot and his taillights disappeared from view.

"Well that was a bust," Raz said. "What the hell was up with the random vamps that just so happened to be where we are?"

"They were stragglers from a nest a few towns over that some of our operatives took out tonight," Ketch explained, causing Mick to whirl around and advance on him.

"And  _ why  _ was I not informed of this?!" Mick demanded.

"We tried once we realized," Ketch said, ignoring the ire in Mick's eyes. "After I sent you the text telling you I was on my way, your reception dropped out. Serena tried calling, but couldn't get through. She spotted them on surveillance cameras not far from here. So, she called me and I came in through the back."

"That's where we ran into each other," Raz said. "Nearly put a bullet in his head before I realized it was him."

"Yes," Ketch seethed with annoyance. "There was quite a bit of confusion until all five vamps rushed us." He paused, clearing his throat and turning back to Mick. "I do suggest we get out of here now, hmm? I'm not parked far from here. I'll follow you out of this God-forsaken town and hand off the photos I have for you then."

Mick nodded curtly. Emmy could see the anger still written across his face, but he motioned for her and Raz to follow him back to their vehicles. They did so quickly, driving away as soon as their doors were closed.

* * *

It was nearly two hours later before they stopped again. Mick had led the way to WaKeeny, Kansas and chose a well-lit and busy gas station to pull off at. They parked their vehicles to the side of the establishment, then Raz and Emmy went inside to retrieve coffee for the four of them.

"Bravo on recruiting those two," Ketch said, coming around to stand with Mick between his Bentley and the rental. He carried a large manila envelope that he handed to the other British Man of Letters once he was close enough. "I didn't think we would ever get these moronic Americans to open their bloody eyes."

"They're not moronic," Mick corrected, his eyes on Emmy and Raz inside the store. "It would do you good to drop your ill-conceived notions, since you're going to be working with them now."

"Is that so?" Ketch scoffed. "Because it appears Emmeline would much rather work with you."

Mick's eyes cut dangerously to the man beside him, a thrum of anger threatening to boil his blood that took a bit of effort to dampen. "I do believe that's none of your business, even if you did try to make sure it didn't happen."

"I was merely trying to save you from wasting your time," Ketch said, almost offhandedly. "She's a hunter. This will not end well and we don't need you distracted."

"She's not distracting me," Mick replied, trying not to growl his response. "We have more important things to discuss than my personal life."

"Right you are," Ketch said with a smirk and pointed to the envelope in Mick's hand. "It's all there. Everyone that had any inkling of the Winchesters' blunder has been dealt with."

"Good," Mick said, peering inside the envelope to see the pictures of all the men who had been at site 94; they were all dead, their throats slit open. "The last thing we need is the American government sniffing about."

"Have you sent in your report yet?"

"It's not due until tomorrow evening," Mick said, closing the envelope and placing it under his arm. "I'm hoping to meet with Mary Winchester before then"

"Really?" Ketch inquired, his brow arching in curiosity.

"Yes, she phoned about noon today requesting to meet," Mick told him. "She's supposed to call when she can get away from her boys. Though, I'm not sure how well that's going to work now."

Mick pulled his cell phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and peered down at the black screen.

"Bloody thing won't even turn on now," Mick grumbled.

"I'm sure one of your new sidekicks wouldn't mind letting you borrow their mobiles until you can get another in the morning," Ketch snarked.

"Indeed," Mick replied, placing the phone back in his pocket and pretending not to see the look of annoyance on the other man's face when Mick didn't react to the jab.

Moments later, Raz and Emmy exited the store, catching Mick's eye. The reaper carried a drink carrier with four large to-go cups of coffee and Emmy had her phone to her ear. He could hear her side of the conversation as they joined him and Ketch.

"Yeah, we had some technical difficulties tonight," Emmy said. "I'll explain when we aren't sitting at a gas station. Mick's phone is out of order ‘til morning. Where are you?" She paused to let the other person speak and then turned her attention to Mick. "Mary wants to know if you can meet her at a diner in Russell tonight?"

The suppression of the agitated gruff Mick felt rising in his chest was barely held down. He really wanted to be done with this day. Unfortunately, duty called.

"Of course," Mick said pleasantly, successfully hiding his real feelings. "We have another hour before we get there though."

* * *

Ketch had headed out when Mick started on his way to meet Mary with Emmy and Raz in tow. The trio had pulled into the diner Mary had chosen just under an hour after they had left. The Winchester matriarch was there waiting on them when Raz and Mick parked their vehicles and, after a brief explanation of what had happened that night, Mick ushered Mary inside so they could talk.

Emmy had climbed into Raz's truck to wait with the reaper while he tried to find out what had happened to Mick's phone. The device was hooked up to Emmy's laptop with Raz staring back and forth between the two with a disgruntled expression painted all over his face.

"What the fuck?" Raz grumbled under his breath, pulling Emmy's attention away from watching Mick and Mary through the window.

"Not having any luck?" she asked.

"Well, I got it to boot back up," Raz said, not taking his eyes from the devices in his lap. "But...it's like his phone never left the factory."

"You mean like a factory reset?"

"More like there was never an operating system to reset," Raz explained. "There is absolutely nothing on it."

"How does that happen?"

"Not by accident."

"You think someone did this on purpose?" Emmy asked. "Who? You really think Pierce or the vamps would have that much technological know-how?"

"No, but Ketch might," Raz said flatly. "It's just a little too convenient that our phones are fine, Mick's is toast, and Ketch showed up right when the bloodsuckers did."

"You really think he's gonna try and take out his boss? They have this whole code about not hurting or killing members of their pack."

"Yes."

"Wow," Emmy breathed. "You  _ really _ don't trust him. I mean, I don't like him either, but…"

Raz shrugged, brushing the comment off and turning off the laptop. "I could be wrong about  _ who _ did this, but this wasn't some random occurrence. Someone didn't want Mick to be able to call for backup tonight."

* * *

The conversation with Mary had went well. She was on board and meeting Mick, along with Raz and Emmy, at the British Men of Letters' temporary compound in Salina the next day. However, the high from that was quickly doused after Mary left the diner and Raz confided in Mick what the reaper had found out about his phone. Mick had spent the rest of the two-hour drive towards the compound on Emmy's phone with his techs and Serena sending out orders and trying to trace any kind of signal that may have been produced around the time they were at the park. Someone had put all their lives in danger that night and Mick was determined to find out who.

"We will keep looking, Mick," Serena said from the other end of the phone pressed to his ear. "If there is anything there we will find it."

"Thank you, Serena," Mick said. "We'll be at the compound first thing in the morning."

He could feel Emmy's questioning eyes on him at his statement. The plan had been to head straight to the temporary base to show Raz and Emmy where they would be reporting into, and Mick hadn't had the chance to tell her how done with the day he was. There was a hotel ten minutes from the compound that he had had his sights set on for some time now.

"I'll see you then," Serena said. "Oh, and the home office sent a message. They would like your report tonight instead of tomorrow."

Mick had to take a second to swallow down his frustration before he spoke again. "I'll see to it they receive it. Goodnight, Serena."

He disconnected the call and placed Emmy's phone in the cup holder, his eyes still locked on the road in front of him.

"I need this day to be over," he said after a beat of silence. "We're going to a hotel up the road, if that's alright."

"I'm fine with that," she said, reaching over to slip her hand into his. "I wouldn't mind having some time alone with you after the day we've had."

A smile tugged at Mick's lips when he glanced over at her, the thought of spending time with the woman to his right causing some of his tension to melt away. 

"I have a report to write and then I'm all yours for the rest of the night," he promised.

* * *

Mick's fingers clicked away on the keys of the enchanted typewriter in front of him at the table he sat at in the hotel room he had chosen. The ancient-looking piece of equipment was connected directly to the British Men of Letters' headquarters in London. Upon getting into the room and setting their belongings down, Raz and Emmy had ventured out to retrieve dinner for those in the trio that needed to eat, giving Mick plenty of time to finish his report recounting the events of the last two days.

He took a swig of his beer, looking down at the photos Ketch had given him scattered about the table and forcing down the remorse he felt for the men in the pictures. Shaking his head, he set his drink down and continued typing.

_ And just like that, the Winchesters are back, for better or worse. True, they did leave loose ends, but that's what Mr. Ketch is for. Every person who knew about Sam and Dean's little adventure in assassination has been dealt with. As far as the world's concerned, it never even happened. The last thing we need is the United States government sniffing about and asking questions. And as for making inroads with the American hunters, good news: Emmeline Turner, Raz Bennett, and Mary Winchester have decided to join us.  _

Mick leaned back in his chair. He had left out everything that had happened with Raz and Emmy the night before, save for what he had told them to say. He should have been worried about the implications of that, but somehow it just felt like the right thing to do. He took a deep breath, sitting up as he exhaled and finished his typing.

_ Mick Davies, filing status Bravo Three, signing out. _

With his report completed, Mick gathered the pictures littering the table and placed them back in their envelope. He looked up when he heard the door open, a smile encompassing his face when he saw Emmy walk through the threshold carrying a white paper bag of take-out food.

"Hope you're fine with burgers and fries," she said, crossing the room and placing the bag on the table. "There wasn't a whole lot to choose—Is that a typewriter? Why?"

Her eyes went wide as she stared at the old looking piece of equipment sitting in front of Mick.

"Yes," Mick chuckled, taking his typed report from the machine and placing it in the envelope with the photos. "It's not your average typewriter though. This one is connected directly to our home office in London via a few carefully placed spells."

"Wouldn't an email be a little more efficient?" Emmy asked, coming closer to get a better look.

"The elders are old fashioned," Mick shrugged. "This is also much more secure. Pretty hard to hack into these without a specialized key. It won't even work without it."

She turned curious eyes to him and he held up the hand he wore his ring on.

"This isn't just a class ring like I originally told you," he explained. "The spell work links both items, placing a unique signature on everything I send in to specify that they are from me. Here, I'll show you." He reached to the side to pick up a blank piece of paper and loaded it into the typewriter. "Try it."

He scooted back his chair to allow her room and Emmy leaned over to tap a few of the keys, her brow furrowing when none of them would move.

"Now try it with this on," Mick said, removing his ring and holding it out to her. 

Tentatively, Emmy grasped the ring and placed it on her finger, looking at Mick quizzically before turning back to the typewriter and placing her fingertips on the keys.

"Type 'demonstration' and then your name," he instructed, moving up closer so he could see her reaction.

She did as he said, her brow shooting up when the device now worked without complications.

"Now what?" Emmy asked, taking a seat across Mick's lap while still looking at the typewriter.

"Just wait," he replied, his arm automatically coming up to circle her waist.

She glanced back at him, however her head snapped back in the typewriter's direction when the keys started clicking on their own. Emmy watched wide-eyed as a message quickly typed itself out.

_ Good evening, Ms. Turner. It is a pleasure to be working with you. We look forward to what the future has in store. _

"Oh, that is so cool!" Emmy enthused, her momentary shock turning to wonder. "Do I reply?"

"If you want." Mick couldn't help but smile over her reaction. He couldn't wait to show her more of what they were capable of.

Emmy leaned forward just enough to connect her fingers with the keys once more and typed out a reply.

_ It's great to be working with you as well. I can't wait to see what's ahead. _

It didn't take but a few seconds for the keys to start clicking again.

_ That is wonderful to hear. _

"OK," Emmy said. "The typewriter isn't nearly as lame as I first thought."

Mick laughed lightly and kissed her cheek. "I'm glad."

"How do I end transmission or whatever?"

Another chuckle fell from Mick's lips. "Mick Davies, filing status Bravo Three, signing out."

Emmy nodded and then swiftly typed out the words he had instructed. "That's it?"

"That's it."

Emmy was grinning when she turned back to him and placed her arm around his shoulders. "Thank you for showing me that."

"My pleasure, Luv."

The smile on Emmy's face quickly turned more alluring, her gaze locking with his. "Speaking of pleasure," she started, reaching up with her free hand to trail her finger down the line of buttons on his dress shirt. "How about blowing off a little steam before we eat?"

Mick's grin quickly matched hers, his hand coming up to slip into her hair and cradle the back of her head. "I think that's a phenomenal idea," he said and pulled her lips to his.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the insanely long wait on this chapter. Life was kinda kicking my ass for a while. 
> 
> Chapter warnings: nightmares, slight smut, slight violence

_ Plastic on the floor. _

_ A dagger wrapped in tattered, dirty leather. _

_ We need cadets that will execute orders without question. _

_ Mick, if we go now we might not get caught! _

_ Only one of you will be leaving this room. _

_ Mick! What are you doing?! _

_ The code demands otherwise. _

_ Mick! No! _

_ Only one of you will be leaving this room! _

_ MICK! PLEASE! NO! _

_ The code demands otherwise. _

_ MICK!!!! WHY?! _

Mick sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes flew open, darting around and trying to figure out where he was while the nightmare images still raged in his mind. His chest heaved, his body covered in a sheen of cold sweat. If he could just take in more than half a breath! The tightness in his lungs was nearly choking him!

"Mick?"

The soft female voice behind him did little to pull him out of his panic riddled mind...behind him? His eyes darted around again. When had he sat up? 

"Mick? Are you OK?"

That voice again! This time it coincided with the touch of a gentle hand to his back. He jumped at first, but when another hand carefully placed itself on his chest he grasped it, hanging on for dear life. Emmy. She was there, one of her arms wrapping around his shoulders while she let him cling to her hand. 

"Mick, baby, you need to breathe."

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced a deep breath into his lungs, slowly clearing away the muck still clogging his brain. Little by little it started coming back to him. It was still dark. They were still in their hotel room in Salina, Kansas.

Fucking nightmares.

A few more minutes passed, his breathing slowly returning to normal and his eyes now locked on the foot of the bed. All the while Emmy's calm voice continued to tell him to relax and breathe.

"I'm sorry," Mick finally croaked. "Nightmare."

"You have nothing to apologize for," she assured him without hesitation. "Do you want to talk about it?"

That was a resounding  _ NO _ ! If she knew what was plaguing his dreams, what still haunted him all these years later… She would hate him. She would run. Think that he was no better than the monsters they hunted, and he wouldn't blame her one bit. 

Mick simply shook his head, squeezing her hand just a little tighter.

"That's OK," she assured him, her free hand rising to comb gently through his hair. "But if you ever want to, I'll listen. No judgment."

He wanted that to be true so badly. 

Mick nodded, raising the hand he still gripped onto to place a light kiss on her wrist. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. "But you don't need to thank me. I'll always have your back, babe."

His head finally turned to meet her gaze, those blue eyes full of concern and comfort. It fell over him like a warm blanket, melting away the remaining tension and anxiety that lingered. He was leaning forward before he knew it and pressing his lips to hers, letting her gently pull him down to pillow his head on her chest. Their arms wound around each other, one of her hands finding its way to his hair again to card her fingers comfortingly through his short dark tresses. The steady beat of her heart slowly lulled him back to sleep with thoughts of how lucky he was to have her.

* * *

Emmy knew how dangerous it could be, knew how unfathomably reckless it was, to let someone in. However, when it came to Mick, she couldn't seem to stop herself. Every touch and caress, every kiss and embrace, pulled her deeper into him, setting her soul on fire in the best possible way. The connection she felt between them—physical, mental, and emotional—was easy and unmistakable. Falling into place like a puzzle piece she hadn't even known she was searching for. But now that she'd found it, she wasn't sure if she could live without it...or him. 

She could feel the emotions being reciprocated in his touch, in those captivating eyes that seemed to peer right through to the parts of herself that no one else got to see. Especially now while he slowly thrust into her against the hotel shower wall. Their gazes connected, his hands gripping her thighs that were locked around his hips, her fingers twisted in his short hair. Water cascaded down their bodies from the rain-style shower head, steam swirling around them. His pale green sapphire eyes burned bright, the pupils blown with lust along with layers of adoration, comfort, and a sentiment she didn't dare name. They all made her heart flutter with hope.

"Mick!" Emmy said breathlessly. "I…"

The delicious pressure of release was starting to build, causing her whole body to shiver. She needed him to move faster, but the words seemed to escape her. Her hands dropped to frame his face and as if he could read her mind, the speed of his thrusts increased. The sudden change in tempo, his hips snapping into her now, had her throwing her head back and shouting his name. Mick's lips were automatically on her neck, tongue and teeth teasing their way to her ear.

"I can't get enough of you," Mick rasped, his accent mixed with his sultry desire making her shiver again. "Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around my cock. So tight and wet for me."

His words made her whimper, making that pressure inside of her strengthen. Mick already knew exactly how to bring her to the edge. Her velvet walls were starting to spasm around his shaft. Fuck! She was so close! She just needed—

"OH! FUCK! MICK! DON'T STOP!!! PLEASE DON'T STOP!! FUCK YES!! MICK!! MICK!!"

His pace doubled, now slamming his cock into her at every thrust and hitting that sweet spot inside of her in every stroke. The brief stutter of his rhythm told her he was as close as she was, but holding back until he could watch her come undone in his hold. 

"Come for me, beautiful!" he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. "I need to feel you fall apart on my cock!"

That was the final push she craved. The coil that had been winding in her belly snapped and a body shaking wave of burning ecstasy crashed over every part of her body. A loud string of obscenities and praise woven in with blissful shouts of his name spilled from her lips. Her clenching walls and the sight of her shaking with orgasm sent him over the edge in just a few more erratic thrusts. 

"Oh fuck, Emmy!!" Mick groaned loudly, grunting with every pulse of his cock as it painted her insides with his seed. "You're incredible, Luv! Feels so fucking good!"

Their lips met, tongues sliding together to ride out their highs until his movements stilled and he carefully pulled out of her. As the kiss ended, their eyes met again and her fingertips traced along his jawline, his wet stubble tickling her skin.

"I think I'm starting to fall pretty hard for you," Emmy said, the admission flowing from her mouth so easily it almost terrified her.

Fear that vanished when her favorite smile encompassed his face, making his eyes sparkle and her heart swell in her chest. 

"The feeling is more than mutual, Luv," Mick said, bringing his lips to hers once more

* * *

Mary had been waiting at the gate to the compound when Mick had arrived with Emmy sitting next to him in the passenger's seat of his rental and Raz following behind in his truck. After a brief exchange with McGillicuddy—the guard at the entrance—all three vehicles drove inside with the British Man of Letters leading the way to the back of the base.

Mary had greeted Raz and Emmy with hugs, Mick with a tense nod. Mick smiled politely, hoping they would be able to get past their trust issues eventually. Regardless, Mick wasted no time in jumping right into a tour of the compound. The two huntresses and the reaper seemed surprised by the technology and resources the compound possessed. The living quarters and mess hall didn't take very long. However, it took all three to practically drag Emmy from the library full of lore, and it was the armory that had taken the most time. Mick was more than happy to explain all the weapons created specifically by the British Men of Letters.

The tour concluded in the large briefing room where Mick's office sat off to the side. Serena and Alton greeted the group with a smile when they entered, both venturing over while Mick made introductions around the room. They discussed their roles within the organization, Alton getting caught up in talking about his newest weapon project—the Anti Vamp Device—that was almost to the field testing stage. 

Before long, Serena and Alton had excused themselves, leaving Mick alone with the two huntresses and the reaper. 

"Not gonna lie," Mary said, her eyes sweeping around the high tech room. "This is pretty impressive."

"I'll say," Raz agreed, dropping into one of the seats around the conference table. "But whoever is naming the weapons our ole boy Alton and his team are coming up with needs some color in their life, dude."

Mary snickered as Emmy glared daggers at the reaper.

"Raz!" Emmy hissed.

Mick's brow raised curiously, "Oh?"

"Come on, man!" Raz said in disbelief. "’Hyperbolic Pulse Generator?’ ‘Werewolf Tonic?’ ‘The Anti Vamp Device?’ They're so...uninventive."

Mick laughed, crossing the room to the other end of the conference table where an open laptop sat. "Don't let Alton hear you say that."

"Ah!" Raz said, a grin on his face. "That explains a lot."

Emmy smacked Raz on the back of the head on her way by to take a seat near where Mick stood, Mary following suit in a chair next to the reaper.

"If Raz is done being rude," Emmy started, sending a warning look to the grinning angel before she turned to Mick. "So how exactly is this going to work?"

"It's pretty simple, actually," Mick said, pressing the enter key on the computer to wake it up. 

Instantly, the four screens behind Mick came to life. The top left appeared to be running every news article in the country at an expedited rate and the top right had a detailed chart with different names assigned to different hunts. The bottom left was a list of "available hunts" that seemed to grow the longer the top right continued scanning. The last screen was information on Project V and Project W.

"Our systems and algorithms locate possible cases and threats," Mick started. "Serena and I go through them then I assign hunters to a job. You report into me before and after a hunt, I get the information to the home office, make sure you're paid, and we move on—"

"Wait! Hold up!" Raz said, raising his hand and pointing at Mick. "Did you say  _ paid _ ?"

Mick's brow furrowed slightly at the reaper's question, his confusion only increasing when he saw matching expressions on Emmy and Mary. 

"I told each of you we had money," Mick stated. "We take care of our members. You'll get money for expenses on your assignments and for your services."

"Well, that's definitely a welcome change," Mary said, her eyes scanning the list of hunts on the screens in front of her. "Emmy and I hustled a biker gang in pool last week and they were  _ pissed _ ! Thought we were gonna have to shoot our way out of that bar."

Mick felt a protective jolt thrum throughout his system as he and Raz both turned wide eyes to Emmy. The British Man of Letters knew he didn't really have room to say anything; they weren't even speaking at the time. 

"Shortcake!" Raz exclaimed. Clearly he had no qualms about expressing his frustration with her. "What the hell?! You didn't tell me that!"

"What?" Emmy replied with a shrug. "We're fine! Those blockheads never stood a chance against Mary and me."

"Yes, well," Mick said tersely. "Thankfully you won't have to resort to that anymore."

Emmy's expression softened when she met Mick's gaze, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Hey," Mary said, pulling the room’s attention. "What about this shifter hunt in Atlanta? It spoken for?"

"No," Mick replied. "Do you want it?"

"Whaddya say, guys?" Mary asked, looking over to Emmy and Raz. 

"Actually," Mick interjected before the duo could respond. "There's something here I would like Raz to help me with."

"Guess I'm spoken for," Raz said with a curious glance to the man at the end of the table.

"Well I'm game," Emmy said.

"Great!" Mick said enthusiastically, but then his face fell. He suddenly thought of what the elders would want for Mary and Emmy's first hunt under the British Men of Letters. "But…"

"But what?" Emmy asked, her eyes narrowing at him.

"Since it's your first hunt with us," Mick started hesitantly. "Ketch will have to accompany you."

The sour look and mood that swiftly took over the room had Mick bracing himself for an onslaught. Fortunately, Mary and Emmy simply shared a disgruntled glance and curtly nodded to Mick. Raz, on the other hand, wasn't so quiet.

"Hell no!" the reaper half-shouted. "Then I'm fucking going, too! No way I'm leaving that dickwad alone with the two of you!"

Both women instantly rounded on the angel.

"You already told Mick you were helping him!" Emmy insisted.

"And Emmy and I can take care of ourselves," Mary added. 

Raz looked up to Mick, silently begging for some assistance. The British Man of Letters chuckled, raising his hands in surrender.

"Sorry, Raz," Mick started. "My hands are tied on this one. The old men want to know our hunters can handle themselves in the field."

Raz cursed under his breath, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. Mick had a feeling this conversation was going to come back to bite him with the reaper.

"What info do you already have on the case?" Emmy asked, purposefully moving the conversation forward.

"Come on," Mick replied, nodding towards his office. "I'll show all of you how to locate that information in our databases."

* * *

Emmy and Mary spent the next hour preparing for their trip to Atlanta. They loaded up on special equipment provided by the British Men of Letters, sorted Emmy's arsenal that had been hastily transplanted into the trunk of Mick's rental car, and divided the weapons up between Raz and Mary's vehicles. Ketch was going to meet them at the hotel in Georgia that Mick had already reserved rooms in, both women being grateful they didn't have to make the trip with the man.

After a final check to make sure they had everything they would need, Mary closed her trunk and both women turned to find Mick and Raz walking out of the compound towards them.

"You ladies about ready?" Mick asked.

"Yep," Mary replied. "We should make it there early tomorrow morning."

Emmy had been quietly dreading this moment the entire time she had been preparing for the hunt. It wasn't the case itself giving her pause; it was the man in the dark gray suit standing next to her best friend. For once, she had someone to come back to and she didn't want to leave without a proper farewell. Yet, she wasn't sure exactly what would be acceptable behavior parked at the back of the British Men of Letters compound in front of Mary and Raz. She knew the reaper wouldn't care either way, but she really wasn't sure how Mary would react, and Emmy didn't want any friction between them going into a hunt. 

Luckily, Mick seemed to have the ability to read Emmy like a book once again.

"Raz, Mary, would you mind giving Emmy and I a moment?" Mick asked, looking between Raz and Mary.

"Sure!" Raz said, a large grin plastered on his face. "Come on, Mary, you gotta see what Mick's computer can do."

Mary raised a hesitant brow, but followed the reaper into the compound. Mick was closing the distance between him and Emmy the moment the door latched closed, one arm curling around her waist, his free hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. She gripped the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer as their lips met in a firey but sweet kiss.

"Please, be careful, Luv," Mick said softly, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Always," she promised. "I can't wait to come back to you."

A grin passed Mick's lips and he kissed her softly again. "I'll eagerly be awaiting your return. I've squared away the issue with my mobile. Phone me when you arrive in Atlanta?"

"I have a feeling I'll be calling and texting you long before that."

"I hope so," Mick chuckled. "Likewise, just in case it needs to be said."

Her arms circled around his neck as his hand smoothed down her back to meet his other at her waist, stealing another kiss in the process.

"I'm gonna miss you, baby," Emmy said, nuzzling her nose to his.

"I'll miss you, too, beautiful," Mick replied, bringing his lips to hers once more.

* * *

Raz trusted Mick—he really did. The reaper could see the good in the man's intentions, even if the organization he worked for was questionable. Emmy trusted him, too. Mick had kept their secrets and accepted both of them without question. 

However, the man's judgment was starting to become worrisome to the angel as he navigated his truck into the dirt driveway of a one-room shack in the middle of nowhere with dense woods surrounding them on all four sides. The small building looked as if a strong gust of wind would send it tumbling to the ground. The wooden walls were weather-worn and dirty, along with two cracked, paned windows, the glass covered with a thick layer of grime.

"Uh...Mick," Raz started, his gaze tearing away from the shack to the man in the passenger's seat. "Are we in the right place?"

The British Man of Letters glanced up from the phone in his hand, his eyes roaming over the area. "Yes," he said matter of factly, his attention dropping back to his phone and his thumb tapping on the screen. "He'll be here soon. Emmy says hello, by the way."

"Who the hell are we meeting?!" Raz asked.

"Luca Bianchi," Mick replied, lowering his phone and meeting the reaper's gaze. "He's a Pontifical Swiss Guard that gets a lot of night shifts patrolling the Vatican library. He's also a friend to the British Men of Letters."

"You have people in the freakin' Vatican?!"

A small smirk quirked at the corners of Mick's lips. "Like I've said before, friends in all the right places."

Laughter rolled from the reaper. "So  _ why _ are we meeting this guy?"

"The Vatican library has books that not even we have access to," Mick explained. "I need to see certain ones, but the ones I need are in a section only the Pope and a select few Cardinals are allowed in."

Raz's brow knitted together tightly. Just what in the hell was Mick doing? "What kind of information are you trying to get to?"

"More on the Divvona blade."

Oh.

Mick was trying to help Emmy.

He should have known that.

"Have you found something promising?" Raz asked.

"I think so," Mick said confidently. "In my digging, I found the blade mentioned a few times in sources linked to the Vatican library. Further research led me to a couple theories from a man named Lorenzo Russo. He claimed that when he was a boy he had seen a long black dagger with a golden hilt stab into a woman, and the victim combusted. He wrote a few books on the subject, but shortly after the Vatican was founded in 1929, he mysteriously died and all of his writings were confiscated by the church."

Raz swallowed hard, averting his gaze from Mick's. He had never expected the man to be so thorough or dig so deep. He had discovered a connection that the reaper hadn't counted on being found. How exactly was he supposed to explain himself if the British Man of Letters connected  _ all _ the dots?

"And you think this dude's stuff is gonna hold a cure for Emmy?" Raz asked, forcing neutrality into his tone.

"Well, that would be ideal," Mick admitted. "Unfortunately, I'm a realist. However, I do believe that it could lead us in the right direction. If my calculations are correct, Russo saw the blade around the time it was supposedly destroyed. Learning what he saw could connect us to a timeline that continues where the previous one abruptly ends. The information I found before we went to see Walter all claims without a shadow of doubt that the blade was destroyed."

"Which we know isn't true," Raz added.

"Precisely," Mick confirmed. "So now it's a matter of weeding through the rubbish and finding something that could lead us where we need to be, or at least gives us an idea of what happens if we can't find a way to fix it."

"You know what happens if we can't," Raz said sadly, bringing his eyes back to meet Mick's. "And it won't be pretty."

Mick pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing and shoulders squaring. "Yes, well, realist or not, that's an outcome I refuse to accept. There's ways to bring people back from the bleedin’ dead. There's a way to save her and I'm going to find it."

The reaper smiled weakly at his best friend's boyfriend. He'd made the same vow himself, and so had the Winchester brothers and Castiel. Bobby and Rufus, too. Unfortunately, everything had always come up just a little short. Every option was either too dangerous to chance or it required items that were impossible to find. None of them had given up by any means, but even Emmy had started to accept her fate around the time Dean and Castiel were swallowed into Purgatory.

"Mick," Raz started, pausing to carefully pick his words. "I'm with you on this. I'll search for a way to fix this for as long as it takes, but there isn't a lot we haven't tried and even Emmy—"

"No," Mick said sternly. 

The determination in Mick's eyes was unwavering and Raz found himself genuinely smiling at the man again despite himself. The reaper nodded slowly, leaning back against his seat. 

"So," Raz started. "You sure this Luca dude is gonna show?"

Mick chuckled, placing his phone in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulling out a white envelope, thick with whatever was inside. "In my experience, people usually deliver when money is involved."

Raz tentatively took the envelope from Mick when it was offered and opened it. The reaper's mouth fell open at the stack of one hundred dollar bills he found inside.

"Mick!" Raz choked, flipping through the money with his thumb to count it. "There's twenty thousand dollars in this fucking envelope!!"

"Sometimes persuasion without guns is best," Mick explained with a shrug.

"Does Emmy know you've got the Brits dropping this kinda cash?!"

"This is considered more of a personal matter," Mick said matter of factly. "And no, she doesn't know yet. I plan on telling her when she gets back."

"Can you make sure I'm in another state when you tell her?"

Mick raised a questioning brow at the reaper.

"Mick, dude," Raz started, unsure of how to phrase his words. "I don't know what kind of girls you're used to...but Emmy's isn't the type to be cool with outlandish amounts of money being dropped for her just because."

"You don't think I know that?" Mick spat. "I know she's going to be upset, but this isn't a piece of jewelry or a holiday to the Bahamas! This is far from  _ just because _ ! This is her bloody life! I'm going to do whatever it takes!"

Raz opened his mouth, but before he could reply the purr of an engine pulling in beside them caught his attention. A black Maserati had entered the dirt driveway and a muscular man with jet black hair and hazel eyes stepped out of the vehicle carrying a manila file folder.

"Come on," Mick said, taking back the money and placing it back in his inside suit jacket pocket.

The reaper simply nodded and the two exited the truck together.

"Hello, mate," Mick greeted as Raz came around to stand next to him. "Raz, this is Luca Bianchi. Luca, Raz Bennett."

Luca and Raz nodded in greeting to each other before Luca spoke.

"Nice to see you again, Mick," Luca said, his words twinged with an Italian accent. "How is America treating you?"

"Very well," Mick said with a smile. "Yourself?"

The grin that covered Lucas's features didn't sit well with Raz. There was something untrustworthy in the man's eyes that made the reaper's skin crawl.

"Much the same," Luca replied and held out the manilla folder. "The rest is in the trunk."

Mick took the folder and opened it, scanning over the contents. Seemingly satisfied with what he found, Mick shut the file and nodded towards the Maserati's trunk. 

"Shall we?" Mick asked.

Luca nodded and Mick followed as the Italian man led the way to the trunk with Raz close behind them. The reaper's eyes hadn't left Luca once; what was it about this man that was making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end?

Raz had noticed the small, blue plastic bin in the backseat of the car loaded with old books when he passed. However, the reaper was too focused on Luca to make the connection until he saw Mick glance over and halt his footfalls. In an instant, Raz could almost taste the suspicion rolling off of Mick at the man now standing at the trunk.

"Everything alright, gentlemen?" Luca asked.

Mick slowly started to move his left hand behind his back and Raz knew he was preparing to grab his gun.

"Top shelf, mate," Mick replied easily. "But I think the books are in the backseat."

"Oh! Those? Those aren't for you," Luca said, the Italian accent starting to drop from his words. "What you want is in the trunk."

Raz pushed out with his angelic sense; something was definitely off. His stomach turned when his grace knocked into the warding surrounding Luca.

Fuck!

"Mick!" Raz exclaimed, an angel blade falling from his sleeve.

"I know!" Mick said, pulling his gun and aiming it at Luca.

Luca rolled his eyes exaggeratedly as they turned into the pitch black voids of a demon. "What gave me away? I really didn't think two humans would see through the warding."

Raz tried to ignore the quick, perplexed look Mick shot him and hoped the Man of Letters wouldn't blow his cover.

"The Men of Letters train their operatives well," Mick spat.

"We'll see—OOFF!"

The demon's words were cut off when Raz lunged forward and tackled it to the ground. In seconds the reaper had the demon pinned to the dirt, angel blade pressed to its heart.

"Who sent you?!" Raz demanded.

"Like I'm going to tell you," the demon cackled.

However, his guffawing stopped short when Raz grinned wickedly.

"I was hoping you would want to do this the hard way," Raz said calmly.

The reaper's hand was suddenly on the demon's forehead and he was screaming and writhing in agony under Raz's touch. Mick had to shield his eyes when bright, blueish-white light engulfed the area around them. When the glow and screams faded, Raz was standing over Luca's motionless body with rage in his eyes.

"Raz!" Mick exclaimed, hurrying over to the reaper. "What—"

"He was one of Djall's," Raz interrupted. "He was here to kill whatever British Man of Letters showed up to meet Luca. Revenge for saving Emmy from that curse." He paused to look up at Mick. "Luca's alive, but he'll need a medic. Can you take care of that?"

"Yes," Mick confirmed. "Will he remember anything?"

Raz shook his head slowly.

"How did the demon not know you're an angel?" Mick asked.

"I'll answer all your questions back at the hotel," Raz told him. "Right now, we need to take care of this and get the fuck outta Dodge."

* * *

It hadn't been a phone call Emmy was expecting. The last text she had received from Mick was light-hearted and happy. Then less than an hour later Raz calls and drops what he and Mick did that day into her lap. Thankfully, she and Mary had pulled off at a rest stop to stretch their legs when the reaper called.

"Are you both OK?" Emmy asked, controlling her anger.

"Yeah," Raz said. "We're good. Mick is currently dealing with covering our asses. He wanted to call you himself, but things are taking a lot longer than either of us expected."

"And you're sure the demon didn't know who Mick was to me?" Emmy asked.

"I'm sure," Raz assured her. "The only info he had was to kill whoever showed. He didn't even know who I was once I revealed myself. Either way, I've warded the compound and our rooms at the hotel."

"I can't believe Mick didn't tell me what he was doing," Emmy sighed.

"Don't be too hard on him, Shortcake," Raz told her. "He's just trying to help and he seems to be about as used to a relationship as you are."

"I'll keep that in mind," Emmy chuckled softly. "Just...watch his back. Please?"

"Already planned on it."

"Thanks, Raz."

"Shortcake," Raz started hesitantly. "You know this means the British Men of Letters are going to get involved with the Djall situation."

"I know," Emmy sighed. "If you need to go—"

"I'm not going anywhere! Ever! We're in this together til the end."

The two talked for a few more minutes before they had to end the call. Emmy hurriedly made her way back to the car, where Mary was just ending her own phone call. The older woman smiled as Emmy got in. Within minutes, they were back on the interstate heading towards Atlanta.

"Everything alright?" Mary asked, piercing through the silence that had settled between them.

"Uh, yeah," Emmy said slowly. Damn Mary was observant. "Mick and Raz ran into a demon issue, but it's taken care of now."

"That's good," Mary said, her eyes on the road. "So...what's going on with you and Mick? Obviously he wasn't put into the one and done category."

"No, definitely not," Emmy confirmed, carefully choosing her words. "He's in the something much more category."

"So you're dating?"

"Yes."

Mary exhaled sharply as she nodded. "Was he the guy you were talking about after the werewolf hunt with Max and Alicia?"

"He was," Emmy confirmed. "We'd had a moment that got screwed up, and we didn't talk for a while. I never stopped thinking about him though, and after helping us with Sam and Dean and then saving Raz...we ended up talking and things just kinda happened."

"Does he treat you right?"

"I mean, it's only been a little over two days, but so far he's amazing," Emmy said. "And the sex is absolutely incredible."

Mary laughed, glancing over at Emmy. "Sam and Dean aren't going to like it, but they aren't really going to like a lot of what we're doing right now. That being said, the heart wants what it wants. If he hurts you though, he'll disappear and no one will ever find his body."

"Good to know," Emmy laughed. "But I really don't think he will. It's never felt this way with someone; it's like I just  _ know _ he won't."

"Good," Mary said, a small knowing smile on her lips.

* * *

The next few hours had been filled with reports, phone calls, and creating a fake timeline for Luca, as well as retracing the man's steps to find out when he was possessed. Serena had compiled quite a bit of surveillance, from the airport he departed from in Italy all the way to the traffic cams in Salina. Mick was grateful that Raz had stuck around, the reaper placing himself at the desk on the other side of the Man of Letters' office to go through the footage along with his credit card trail. Though, Mick did have a slight inkling that the angel was sticking to him like glue for more than just that.

"How's it going over there, mate?" Mick asked, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing his hands down his face. It really had been a long day.

Raz's response was a grunt and a side glare. "I've been through this crap three times. The moment he got possessed isn't on here. So, either the demon planned it or it just got lucky. Either way, Luca needs an anti-possession charm."

"Taken care of," Mick assured him. "Gave it to him before I left him at the hospital."

"Ya know, you need one, too," Raz said, turning fully to Mick now. "Especially if Djall is pissed at the British Men of Letters."

"Have one," Mick said. "Tattoo on my chest done in a special white ink that makes it invisible except under certain circumstances."

"Well you fuckers just think of everything don't ya?"

"We try," Mick chuckled, his face falling after a moment. "Raz...you do realize there won't be any keeping us out of the Djall case now, right? He attacked us. It's only a matter of time until I get orders from the old men to start sending people after him. Orders I won't be able to question. Just know you're still safe."

Mick hoped that Raz could read between the lines and would know that what he was really saying was that he would keep the reaper's identity and the other things they had confided in him as quiet as he could. The smile that crossed the angel's lips told Mick that he did understand.

"I know," Raz sighed heavily. "Emmy does, too. We're not going anywhere. Who knows? Maybe we'll make more progress by bringing out the big guns."

"I think we will," Mick said confidently.

* * *

It had taken hours for Raz and Mick to finally make it back to the hotel, carrying the books from Luca up to the British Man of Letters' room in silence. Mick had been waiting to get the angel alone to ask the questions screaming in his head all day, and now that they were in his hotel room, he wasn't going to hold back any longer.

"What the hell happened today?" Mick asked, rounding on the reaper as soon as the door was closed. "Why did that demon not know you were an angel?"

Raz sighed, rolling up the sleeve of his cotton shirt to show Mick his forearm. The reaper held his arm out, making a fist and squeezing it. Dark red burn marks started to sizzle into existence on his skin, forming a mix of Enochian and ancient Tamalian symbols starting at his wrist and disappearing under the fabric covering his bicep.

Mick's eyes went round, carefully stepping up to the reaper to get a closer look at the markings. He recognized the symbols on their own, but he had never seen them put together quite like this.

"Bloody hell," Mick breathed. "What is all that?"

Raz released his fist, rubbing his forearm with his hand as the markings faded. "It's a special type of warding that keeps my form stable and hides my grace. It cloaks what I really am to pretty much everything but God, Death, and reapers that are physically in the living world."

"Your form?" Mick questioned. "You mean your vessel."

"No," Raz said. "I don't have a vessel, Mick. What you're seeing is actually one of the forms I can take."

Mick was sure the gears turning in his head were audible even to Raz while he processed that statement. "How do—I knew that reapers could take different forms in the veil...but—you're not in the veil."

A chuckle fell from the reaper's lips as he crossed the room to take a seat at the table by the window. "First thing you have to know, every piece of knowledge in any book on angels written by a human is what angels have allowed to be known. What I'm about to tell you isn't written down...anywhere."

Mick wasn't sure what else to do but nod while he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Reapers…" Raz started, leaning back in his chair and resting his arm on the tabletop. "Reapers are a different breed of angel. All other angels  _ need _ a vessel in order to walk on Earth. We don't. We can still take one, but mostly a reaper will just take a human form because our grace reacts differently to a human body."

"Meaning what?" Mick asked, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands together.

"Our grace kind of...alters the DNA of the human," Raz stated. "If we leave the vessel in enough time, no damage is done, but if not...our grace twists and manipulates the human until their soul is ejected and we make the body our own."

"How long does that take?"

"It really depends on how strong the vessel is," Raz said. "But best case, three hours. Worst, it happens within minutes."

"Have you ever…"

"Once," Raz admitted quietly, his shoulders slumping and sad eyes trailing over to the blue tote of books he had put on the table. "I was trying to help."

Mick followed the reaper's gaze with his own, taking in the angel's change in demeanor and what appeared to be guilt lingering in his features.

"Raz…" Mick started hesitantly, his gaze focusing back on the reaper. "Do you know how Lorenzo Russo died?"

Raz was quiet for a moment, the debate over whether or not to tell Mick the truth evident on his face. Finally, the reaper nodded.

"For some dumbass reason," Raz began, still averting his eyes from Mick's. "When the Devvona Blade was located after centuries of it being hidden, Michael thought it was a good idea to send a reaper after it—guess who got tapped. Apparently he thought our ability to not need a vessel would be an advantage for whatever reason. I found the blade no problem. Unfortunately, so did a demon named Ceeza."

"So there was a fight?"

"Pretty epic one," Raz confirmed. "On some farm land in Rome. What neither of us realized until half way through was that Lorenzo was watching all of it. Ceeza threw me into a tree that the kid was hiding behind. Lorenzo ran screaming and the demon bitch seized the opportunity. She got a hold of the blade and before I could stop it, the poor boy was lying on the ground bleeding to death."

"But he didn't die that night," Mick said.

"No, he didn't, but he was supposed to," Raz said. "It was in that moment that I realized I was supposed to reap him. He wasn't ready yet though; I was in the living world, and I knew all the loopholes. I managed to wrestle the blade from Ceeza and kill her, but when I did, I wasn't ready for the damn explosion it caused. The demon exploded, the blade slipped out of my hand, and was just gone."

"Then you healed Lorenzo?"

Raz nodded once more. "I couldn't go back after that though. Even if it was a loophole, I broke the rules. I would have been killed on the spot. So, I did what I needed to hide myself while I searched for the blade and watched over the kid. I had altered his memories, but when the injury from the blade ripped back open after a year everything came back. That's when I stayed with him and we started trying to figure out how to cure him."

"And when he started writing," Mick added. "Did you find anything?"

"No, not at first," Raz said "Resources were much harder to come by back then and I was cut off from heaven. It took us years to start to piece anything remotely usable together. We didn't find any of the options we've tried with Emmy, but there was one thing that we found."

"Which was?"

"Being possessed by a reaper." 

"And it failed," Mick assumed.

"No," Raz said, finally meeting Mick's gaze. "It worked. The poisonous magic was eradicated, but it took some time… Time we didn't have. I didn't get out in time and Lorenzo was just...he was gone, and I should have known. I saw that as one of his possible deaths, but he was so adamant and I allowed myself to be talked into it. I never should have let it happen."

The guilt practically dripping off of the reaper was palpable, making the air in the room seem thick and heavy. Mick almost felt like he had to fight to take a breath before he could sort through the wild and screaming thoughts storming through his head. 

"Does Emmy know?" Mick asked, his voice coming out more strangled than he was anticipating.

"She does," Raz nodded. "We made a pact early on to not keep important things from one another. We've both decided that using possession as her cure is our absolute last resort. There's no way to tell how long she could survive it and I won't—I can't. Not to her."

Mick took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. What kind of sick cosmic joke was it to dangle a surefire cure in front of them and tack on the possible side effect of dying anyway?! There had to be some other way! The British Man of Letters had to take a few seconds to calm the anger he felt bubbling up inside him. Slowly, something Raz had said started to stick out.

"Raz," Mick started slowly. "What did you mean by possible deaths?"

"You don't fucking miss a damn thing, do ya?" Raz replied with a strained chuckle.

"I try not to."

Raz nodded, studying the man in front of him closely before he spoke again. "You realize the trust I'm putting in you by telling you all of this, right?"

"I do."

The reaper took another deep breath before he began. "The way someone dies isn't necessarily set in stone. For certain people that take certain paths, yes, they are headed for one ending. But more often than not, there are several possibilities for someone's ultimate end. Some have more than others. Someone like Emmy and the Winchesters, you and your team—even Ketch—all have way more options than your average person. Fuck, Dean Winchester's alone could fill the Library of Congress three times over."

"And you can see these possibilities?" Mick asked.

"Not all of them," Raz said. "Only Death can do that, but as a reaper I can see the most likely options. It's not very detailed though. Like, I could see what or who killed someone, but not when or where, or even how old they were. You have to remember though, none of it is set in stone."

"I'm probably going to regret this question," Mick said hesitantly. "But...is injury from the blade or a reaper possession possible deaths for Emmy?"

"I may be a resigned reaper, Mick," Raz said. "But there are still cosmic laws I have to abide by in order to keep bad things from happening. Answering that question about someone who is still alive could seal their fate...or worse. Believe me, there are warnings I wish I could give to certain people in my life, but doing so  _ directly _ would essentially be signing their death warrants. Sometimes you find the opportunity for a  _ safe _ hint, but if they don't get it, there's nothing that can be done."

Mick nodded slowly. The reaper hadn't told him yes or no, but in Raz's own way he gave the British man his answer. However, there was something deeper in the angel's words. The construction of the sentences and the inflection in certain words had instincts starting to rise up in the back of Mick's mind. 

Had the reaper tried warning  _ him _ of something?


End file.
